Contracts
by WorldInvent
Summary: When Robert learns of how Karen bargained with the Goblin King to bless them with a son, he must renegotiate the contract that binds his daughter. How much of her future will be her own choice? How much can a parent influence their child's life? And just how generous is a fae king?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Notes: this is a complete retelling. This opening sequence is based more around the movie's beginning than the book. I am in a rather dark mood._

 _I_

"Karen, you cannot be serious!"

"I am. I know you don't like it, but this has to happen."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I knew you would have objected."

The spacious master bedroom of the Williams house might as well have been the boxing ring for an infamous champ match. Robert Williams was looking at his wife with such animosity, one would question if all the love he had vowed to her on their wedding day was gone. Karen Williams looked just as savage though, unrelenting in her position, neck muscle tight and eyes wide. Both of them dressed in fashionable attire, ready for an evening out, made the scene even more off kilter.

"Well of course I would have!" Robert shouted.

Mr. Williams was a man of simple yet refined taste. He liked order and predictability: bath rob folded over his side chair; meals at exact hours; the sort of man who orders the same dish at his favorite restaurant at least once a week. It was one of the traits that had drawn him towards Karen: a neat and tidy female version of himself. Unlike his ex-wife. She had been an actress. Tempting and alluring at first in the opposites-attract-fatal-attraction sort of way, but ultimately flighty and unreliable.

For him to yell at Karen was a sign that things were undoubtedly, strikingly out of order.

"It's done, Robert," replied Karen with a quiet resolve. Her cheeks were crimson from the strain of control. "There's no changing it now. And tonight's the night." She stood up from her vanity.

Robert's shout had disturbed the baby in the crib. The young boy had been playing happily with a stuffed teddy bear. At the sound of his father's loud voice though he had begun to fuss. Karen picked the baby up, trying to sooth him.

"This is madness," said Robert. "I mean I knew that you…" His voice trailed. The look that passed between them spoke of an understanding that certain things were never discussed. Karen's talents were unique and best left alone. They had potential for chaos. "I always assumed though that you were careful," he snapped.

Karen gently swayed, hoping to calm the agitated baby. "Of course I'm careful. Robert this whole arrangement was done very carefully. It won't hurt her."

"But," he insisted. "she's just a child."

"Would you rather me offer our son back? Negate on the arrangement?" Her tone was sardonic.

Robert ran a hand through his hair. Something told him deep in his gut that to do so would cost him both of his children. "How will it be afterwards? I mean, will we remember? Will she remember?"

"He said that he would see to those finer details."

He grasped at his last concern. "And she'll be safe?"

Karen nodded. "I have his solemn oath. Now here, take Toby and finish getting him ready for bed. It's getting late and I haven't heard Sarah come home yet. Oh dear it's raining," she commented as she passed their balcony windows. "She'll be soaked through. And we'll be the last arriving at tonight's get together. That girl!" She grabbed her hand bag and bustled from the room.

Robert watched his wife go. In his arms the baby boy wiggled and fussed. Robert's simpleness was also his weakness. A simple man is not a man of action. A simple man does not bode change well. Robert was simple and also spineless. As angry as he was, he knew he would not raise a finger to alter his wife's plans. Coward, coward, coward, he berated himself.

He left the bedroom and went down to the kitchen. Toby needed a snack before bed. Food would help ease his fussiness. Gently he stroked the blonde head. In the kitchen he sat the boy in his high chair and opened a fresh container of pureed baby food. For a moment Robert saw the infant version of his daughter- her dark hair in place of the blond; her green eyes instead of his blue. They were both his children. How could he give up either one of them? Toby barely ate, but continued to fuss. He would have to cry it out in the crib. Sarah wouldn't coddle him. He wondered how much Karen had influenced the lack of sibling affection.

He heard the front door open. Karen and Sarah were at it immediately. Karen complaining about her tardiness. Sarah complaining about the expectation of being responsible for her brother. It occurred to Robert that this was a corner stone of their relationship: arguing. It will be more peaceful when she's gone, he thought and then scowled. How could he think such callous things? Sarah was his daughter! Sure she was a bit more like Linda than he liked; her flare for drama was annoying; not to mention how her dark hair and pale skin favored his ex. He stifled a groan.

Coward, he thought again.

Putting Toby to bed, leaving the house, and arriving at the party- all these things were a bit of a blur to him. There was a vague recollection of telling Sarah that they would be back around midnight, his tone light, and then her shouting something melodramatic. He had driven the family volkswagen, maneuvered through traffic and pulled up to the large reception hall without being mentally present. He glanced at the dashboard clock: it was a quarter to eight. Would Sarah have said the right words? Had he arrived? Was the cursed deed done?

"Smile Robert," chastised Karen checking her lips in the rear view mirror. "The president of the company is here tonight. He needs to see you. More importantly I need to see him. We'll get you that promotion tonight."

"Doesn't matter," he mumbled.

Karen dropped her lipstick back in her purse and snapped it shut. With a practised sweetness she said, "It certainly does matter. You like our life, as do I, and we shall continue to pursue our goals of success and recognition. Don't make a spectacle of yourself. I swear Sarah gets her flare for the dramatic just as much from you," she commented opening the passenger side door.

Robert straightened his tie and got out of the car. He'd let his wife lead. She always did. She was a force in her perfectly coiffed hair, flattering yet practical outfits. The reception hall was alive with light, the sound of voices, and the clinking of service. She would ensure this promotion. He had little doubt that her special talent would work again. Though he wondered: was it his wife's skills as a witch that had led to his success these past few years or had it been this deal with the devil? He felt Karen's hand slip under his arm. It felt cold. He might be a coward, but he knew he could no longer love this woman.

 _II_

Arriving home at just about midnight, Robert hesitated in the car. Next to him Karen chattered on about how successful the evening had gone, how his next promotion was a sure thing. After all the president had asked for a meeting to be set up between him and Robert on Monday morning. Sitting in the driveway, he glanced through the driver's side window, up towards the second floor of his split level home: the lights were off in their master bedroom. Down stairs he could make out some faint illumination from perhaps the kitchen light.

An owl suddenly swooping across the porch startled him to the point that he gasped out loud, felt his heart thump maddeningly in his chest.

"Goodness Robert," said Karen touching his shoulder. "Come on." She urged him to cut the engine and go inside the house.

He could still remember every detail of his daughter. Her long dark brown hair that skimmed her waist. Her green eyes that reminded him of Linda. The faint spattering of freckles across her nose. He hadn't forgotten her. Now what could that mean? Was that part of the consequences of the arrangement, this contract? He would remember her always though her existence had been blotted out?

The front door unlocked they came in. Karen hung up her coat. Perhaps out of some small hope, or habit, Robert called out, "Sarah?"

Karen eyed him with annoyed glance.

He ignored her. "Sarah are you home?" he asked, and then held his breath.

"Yes," came the reply. Loud and clear- it was Sarah's voice. "Yes, I'm home."

Karen's hand went to her neck in a clear show of panic. Robert's shoulders actually relaxed. She hadn't left! The plan hadn't worked! But the man, the arrangement… He suspected they were not safe yet. "How much trouble are we in?" he asked his wife.

"I-I-I don't know. This wasn't supposed to happen this way!" Her eyes wandered up the length of the stairs.

"What will he do?" His wife continued to stare, focused on the landing above. "Karen!" he exclaimed sternly finally gaining her attention. "What will the Goblin King do to us?" When she stood silent, in either ignorance or simple refusal to answer, he turned and strode into the living room. Clicking on a lamp, he made for the wet bar on the far side. Karen asked him what he was doing. "I need a drink," he stated reaching for the brandy. His hand shook.

This night had already been too surreal. His wife, this woman who was supposed to be his better half, had struck a deal with the Goblin King. He took a mouth full of the liquor and poured more. There were bits he still didn't quite understand, but the gist of the contract was a child for a child. Particularly a female child for a male child. This second marriage had come later in life for both of them. Karen, from the moment he met her, had expressed a near unrelenting desire to have children. The better part of her younger years had been given over to her craft, and now with a year of courtship behind them and wedded bliss achieved she wanted to start a family. And they had. Toby. A son. His male ego couldn't have been more pleased.

But the cost.

He had merely assumed that his daughter's distemper was due to the fact that her world, her own familiar, safe world, had been ripped from her. It was common for preteens to act out during or after a divorce. Or so every counselor had told him. In light of current revelations though he wondered how much his daughter had been purposefully guided into this temperament. How much goading his wife had participated in. He took another drink.

"We shouldn't rush into any conclusions," he heard Karen say.

He turned and glared at her. "I'm going to check on my children," he stated. He made it to the entry way before the lights went out. In the sudden, unnatural dark, Robert was reminded why he stayed out of his wife's personal work. Magic was too temperamental. It was too dramatic. Unpredictable. And quite frankly, scary. He swallowed again, tasting the brandy on his tongue.

"Yes, Robert, you do that," said a man's voice. It was cultured and smooth. Like a viper."For it'll be the last time you shall do so."

Slowly Robert turned around. Standing between him and his wife was a tall figure draped in shadows. Fair hair reflected what little light penetrated the darkness. The man swayed slightly, a cape rustling. The air tasted like ozone and there was a crackling of electricity.

The man spoke again, "I am due certain payments for services rendered. In light of current circumstances, my cost has just doubled."

"No." Robert heard himself say. He surprised himself. He should be a crumbled mess, cowering. But he had been given a second chance to rectify his wife's hurtful actions.

The man took several steps near him. The light refused to show Robert his face. Instead it was just the rustling again. "You have no say in this," he replied. "My contract is with," he paused and turned. "your wife."

Strangely Robert could see Karen's face quite clearly. She licked her lips. "I did exactly what I was supposed to do," she said raising her chin. "Encouraged her to learn about the Fae. Even made darn sure that book made it into her hands."

"Yet she refused me," returned the man.

"Hardly my fault," she quipped. "I practically gift wrapped her for you."

Robert felt his heart drop. His wife had orchestrated Sarah's destructive behavior.

"Curious that," said the man. "She was marked to be my payment. Your daughter should back in the Underground, instead she is up stairs."

"She's not," interjected Robert. His small courage was growing.

"What?" snapped the man his head turning.

"She's not her daughter," explained Robert. "Sarah is my daughter."

A moment of intense crackling passed. Robert felt it int he way the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He had just revealed a very crucial bit of information. Something that could alter the contract. He was sure of it.

"Serves me right for making a contract with a witch," said the man. He addressed Karen, "You bargained with another's child?"

"The agreement was a female child, for a male child. There was no stipulation how that first child came about," replied Karen defensively. "Robert," she walked towards him with that practised sacran sweet tone. "we wanted to start our own family. Sarah only reminded you of Linda."

When she reached for his arm, he jerked away. "Not her daughter," he stated again. "Does this change the contract?"

"Yes." A false pause. "And no. I still gave you a son. I still need payment."

"She's just a child," said Robert raising his voice.

The man came close. Robert was finally able to make out some facial details: he had eyes that swept up and away in a most nonhuman way. And their color. Robert had heard of heterochromia iridium that resulted in two different colors of the iris, but never had he seen it so strikingly before. This man had one blue and one green eye.

"Well, Robert, that's precisely why I want her."

Robert's little bit of courage blossomed into full blown anger. He had dropped his brandy glass and raised his fist to strike before he had even considered the consequences. "You disgusting, pervert!" he bellowed. The man side stepped without flinching. Robert stumbled into an empty space.

"Don't apply human reasoning to matters you don't comprehend," said the man tersely.

Robert felt a pang of embarrassment at his sloppy attempt to defend his daughter's honor. "The contract is void!" he insisted. "She wasn't Karen's to bargain with!"

"True," agreed the man. He adjusted his cape. "But such facts do not void the contract. I gave you a son. Perhaps I'm feeling a tad generous this evening. I will let you keep your daughter," he said.

Robert righted himself. His mouth gaped. "Oh thank you!"

"For now," added the man. He moved to the wet bar and raised the decanter, sniffing its contents. With smooth movements, he arranged three glasses and poured the brandy into each tumbler. "I believe eighteen is the going age for adulthood these days." Suddenly Robert and Karen found their hands occupied with their own drinks. The man raised his own as if proposing a toast. "To eighteen," he said and clinked the lips of their glasses. "Do stop gaping," he then added. "It's not like you really have a choice."


	2. Chapter 2

Sarah felt her tongue being crushed between her teeth. She knew she probably looked completely crazy. Any moment now she'd start drooling. But for some reason, her tongue thrust awkwardly betwixt teeth and lips, helped her to concentrate. And she needed all the extra concentration she could muster. So her tongue took the punishment. Her hands brought the edge of the paper closer to the gutter of the book. It was called tipping-in: a single page had come loose from the original binding and it had to be glued back in place. If she could successfully manage this little procedure than her master would allow her to begin a new aspect of book repair.

Her master, Mr. Proodle, stood off to the side behind her watching. She could feel him back there, his eyes squinting behind his spectacles, observing her every move. The faint smell of his cologne made more apparent by her flared nostrils. She would have rather done the tipping-in alone. Someone watching over her shoulder made her feel incredibly self-conscious.

I can do this, she thought sliding in her bone folder, pressing the glued underside firmly.

But she was so young. At seventeen she was an apprentice to the most respected book restorator in town. Actually, he was pretty much the only restorator in town. The act of restoration and conservation for the printed word was a dying art, and Mr. Proodle had looked upon this teenage girl, who spoke of the smell of old books and the art of calligraphy with such reverence, with amusement. At first. Surely someone who wanted her GE out of the way could accomplish a much more desirable trade in the art of cosmetology or nursing? Book repair was a dying art. Meant now only for the most skilled. She needed to take her romantic fancies some where else and leave a poor man be.

Sarah carefully folded the wax paper. She remembered that interview. Mr. Proodle had been ready to dismiss her based solely on her age. Then she had brought out her own measly attempts she had done on her own. She had tipped-in a page into a comic book. Obviously she had used too much glue- actually the wrong glue all together for a newspaper print- but she understood the principle.

She had also produced a set of original copies of two very old books: one a collection of poetry by Emily Dickinson and the other a red bound book of ACH Smith's, The Labyrinth. These, she had said, she wanted desperately to keep in pristine condition. But she needed help. Affording the cost of a professional restoration was out of the question. So the only other option was to learn the trade.

She had been sixteen. By some luck of the fates she had impressed him enough and for the past year she had been learning under his close watch. Coming after school, filling up any free Saturday she had.

She closed the book and set a weight on the binding. The true test would come in the next eight to ten hours which would prove whether or not her glue had set properly. She released the pressure on her tongue and leaned back.

"Well?" she asked.

With a sniff, Mr. Proodle came forward. He sported a white mustache that was eccentrically long and waxed. He wore a vest, that he insisted on referring to as his waist coat. A fob dangled from a small pocket. He adjusted his spectacles and leaned near the book. He sniffed. "I would say that all preliminaries point to a good outcome. Well, done Ms. Williams."

She sighed in relief.

"If this sets properly, I might consider giving you a small contract," he added.

"A contract? You mean, an actual client?" she asked in disbelief.

"A small job for the local library." He smiled.

Sarah smiled as well. The library was more of a charity client. When their children's department suffered a little too much rough love, Mr. Proodle often repaired books for free. "Anything to keep the young generation reading," he told them. It was a sentimental job. And if he trusted her enough to take it over, well, he must be impressed with her skills. "I would be honored," she admitted. "But, do you really think I'm ready? I'd hate to mess up the relationship you have there."

He took out his pocket watch. "Well, come the morning we shall see whether or not you are ready. The hour is late my dear. I'm surprised your father hasn't called the shop yet."

Sarah took the old man's hands and forced the watch face towards her: it was a quarter to eight. "Whoops!" she exclaimed and sprang up. "He knew I had to do this procedure this evening," she then said going to the coat rack and retrieving her jacket and messenger bag. "Probably didn't want to interrupt."

Mr. Proodle reached for his hat on the same rack. "Do let me drive you home, Sarah dear," he offered. "It'll be quicker, not to mention warmer."

They both wrapped scarves around their shoulders. Sarah nodded. Mr. Proodle may be her master, but he had also proven to be a trust worthy companion. The whole master business was rather old fashioned anyway, she thought to herself as the two of them moved from the back room. He's more like an uncle teaching me the family trade.

The shop was quiet, illuminated by only a small desk lamp. It really wasn't a shop though either. Sarah cast her eyes around the book shelves crammed full of reading material. There was a small seating area to consult with clients, but really it resembled more of a parlor or drawing room.

There's another old fashioned term, she mused again. Really, Sarah dear, you spend far too much time among old things.

And she stifled a laugh at how much her thoughts had sounded like Mr. Proodle.

The gentleman had turned out the desk lamp and was heading towards the glass front door. Outside the night looked blustery- leaves threw themselves against the glass. A small city mouse was bravely navigating the elements, hopefully on his way home. As she heard the jingle of keys she also heard the hum of a car. A dark vehicle pulled up along side the curb.

"Since when do you have a chauffeur?" she joked.

Mr. Proodle stood keys in one hand, leather valise in the other. He didn't move to open the door. "I don't," he said flatly. "Sarah, my dear, wait here please." He went out the door.

Sarah felt the chill night air steal inside. This had happened on several other occasions throughout the past year. She watched her master approach the passenger side window and lean forward. Of course the other times she had been on her way out of the shop: just getting on her bike or reaching the corner, a car would pull up and a client would be ushered in. These after hour visits fit with Mr. Proodle's flare, and Sarah had always assumed that the clients in question were simply wealthy patrons who enjoyed their anonymity.

Something in the way Mr. Proodle had stiffened suggested that tonight's visit had been unplanned. It was a noir encounter.

Stop it, she told herself, you're just reading in to the situation. The moody night is working on your imagination.

She decided to call her father. He would be worried by now. Even with Mr. Proodle driving her it would still be another fifteen minutes before she reached home. He worried a lot these days. The line rang three times before he answered. As expected his tone was overly relieved to hear her voice. The additional "Thank God" was a bit much. "It just took a little longer than I thought it would," she explained. "Yes, I'm coming straight home. Dad! Dad, you know I would let you know if my plans had changed. I always call. Right, well, I love you too. Yes, Mr. Proodle is going to drive me home. Alright, bye."

Her master was back inside the door. He looked apologetic. "Sarah my dear, I'm afraid, something unexpected has come up." His head turned slightly back indicating the visitor in the car. "I won't be able to see you home."

"Oh."

His hand went to his coat pocket. "Here," he said extending his hand. "Take my car. Your father will worry."

"Mr. Proodle, I can't. I mean…," she paused. Glancing from her master to the car, she came close to him. "Are you alright? Is there something I can do?"

He smiled placidly. The ominous feel to the air lessened some what. He sniffed. "Just a very particular business associate," he said. "I am quite alright my dear. Just bring the car back round tomorrow. It will be Saturday after all. There's a good girl." He pressed the keys into her palm and taking her by the elbow he forced her out the door.

Mr. Proodle's blue car was parked further along. Sarah let him guide her down the sidewalk. As they passed the other driver, Sarah felt the air change, and a sharp metal taste on her tongue. Then she was climbing inside Mr. Proodle's car and she needed to concentrate on not marring her boss' vehicle. The engine started. In the rear view mirror she saw Mr. Proodle shake the hand of the driver who had vacated the other vehicle. With a quirk of her lips and a shrug, she started the car and maneuvered out onto the street.

Sarah and her father shared a two bedroom apartment. It was modest with well mannered neighbors and a fairly attentive land lord. It was a far cry from the spacious split level of her childhood, but cozy all the same. Odd how having too much space- one's own room, a hall bathroom for your own disposal and all the entertainment room one could want for parties- had actually been the least happiest place. That house had been nothing but ill tempers and arguments; shouting matches and babies crying.

Since the divorce three years ago from his second wife, her father had scrapped everything that was considered in excess. He wanted simple, sturdy furniture; a minimal wardrobe; he grocery shopped on a weekly basis to stop himself from over buying. He had even insisted that his daughter take the master bedroom, though not entirely for herself. One side held a toddler bed and an extra dresser for the weekends that Toby, her half brother, stayed with them. As Sarah pulled the car into a free parking spot she remembered that this was one of those very weekends. The dashboard clock glowed eight-thirty. The little tyke was probably asleep by now.

She locked the car behind her, praying to all the powers most holy that no one dented or scraped or attempted to steal her boss' car.

She jogged up the stairs to the second story apartment. Her nose cold and runny even in the short dash. Her father greeted her at the door. "There you are," he said in relief. "I almost called down at the shop again."

"I am so sorry dad, really," she said removing her coat. "We had a last minute customer show up."

The little television across from the sofa was on. A rerun of some 1950s western show. Sarah could hear gun fire and music. The small table was set with a napkin and spoon, an expectant place setting waiting on her tardiness.

"So," he father began turning off the TV. "How'd it go?"

Sarah pulled her scarf off. "Really well. He thinks I might be ready to actually take on a client."

Robert put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "Honey that's wonderful. Come have something to eat, okay? Yes, Toby's out cold."

Sarah threw her stuff across the arm of the sofa and went into the kitchen. Her dad was rewarming a bowl of chilli. She went to the refrigerator and retrieved a tupperware container of shredded cheese. They sat at the table. Sarah began to tell him about the library and how she would be working on the children's books. She was really excited. The more she talked, the more the emotion grew. She would working among books! The smell of the paper might as well have been an aphrodisiac the way her heart raced and her cheeks flushed. Though she was prudent enough not to make such comparisons out loud. To her father, no less.

There was just something about the printed word that she couldn't really explain. Most of her possessions were books- poetry, fantasy, science fiction. She owned multiple copes of different fairy tale collections because the illustrations would put a different spin on the stories. It didn't matter whether it was an old tattered paper back or a crisp newly bound edition, she loved her books. To Sarah they were each a portal, offering up different worlds, emotions, and concepts.

Her dad nodded and smiled. Then abruptly changed the subject, "I heard from Linda today. Said, you turned down her offer again."

Linda- her mother and her father's first wife. Linda- who lived in New York and was a celebrated stage actress. Linda- who had married a man fifteen years her junior. Linda. Sarah rolled some chilli around her mouth. Linda who had offered her daughter a job at the theatre she worked for. A job she had turned down.

There had been a point in her life when Sarah would have grabbed hungrily at a chance to be near the glitz and glam of the show life. She remembered how at thirteen she had fancied herself rising starlet following a school performance of The Princess and The Pea because of Linda's new husband praising her, showering her in compliments. Sarah hadn't even had a key role. She had been a servant with one line.

"Yeah, I did," she replied.

Since her father's divorce though, loosing the constant strain that had been Karen and hers relationship, Sarah had wanted nothing more than to live quietly. Do some good. Make an honest living. Behind the scenes though and not in the spot light. Not that she didn't have goals or aspirations. Take her apprenticeship: she had gone out of her way to locate the only man in town who cared for books. She had gone out of her way to get her high school general education done early.

Her father sighed. "I don't understand Sarah. She is giving you a great opportunity."

"For what?" she asked in return. "I don't get it either dad. Why do you want me to go live with mom so much?"

"It's not that I want you to go live with her. It's the opportunity- this experience of learning about the stage, going to live in a new place. An adventure!"

It struck Sarah as odd that a man who enjoyed predictability wanted his only daughter to go on an adventure. "I'm happy here dad."

"Yes because every seventeen year old dreams of sharing a poky apartment with her father," he observed. He took a deep breath and leaned forward on the table. "You're going to be eighteen in a year Sarah. One more year before you're an adult. I want you to," he paused searching for the right words.

"Go sow my wild oats?" she prompted flatly, tired of this all too frequent conversation.

"Live," he corrected.

"Because at eighteen I'm going to magically turn boring? I won't be able to go on any more adventures?" Sarah's spoon clanked in her bowl. "I like where my life is heading," she went on. "I like our simple routine that you and I have. I like working for Mr. Proodle. And I am really looking forward to taking on the library contract. It's what I want dad. Why can't you let me choose this path?"

Every other time he would have pushed it until they both got angry or she had made an excuse about some other responsibility. Instead he shook his head and stood up from the table. "I'll wash your bowl. Why don't you go get a shower and relax for the night. Just be mindful of Toby."

Sarah pushed away from the table and walked towards the small hallway that led to the bathroom and two bedrooms. In the hallway she paused and glanced back at her father: the faucet was running, hot steam had begun to rise, but he just stood there staring at the sink and the dirty bowl. Why couldn't he be happy for her? Why couldn't he be proud of her accomplishments, the path she had chosen for herself? Most parents would be beaming because their child had graduated early and was on a successful career path. He just wanted her to go away.


	3. Chapter 3

_There was a hiccup in loading this chapter initially. The wrong bloody one. I apologize for the confusion._

 _I_

The man surveyed the room. It was a neat little space, though stuffed to maximum capacity with book shelves, and said shelves holding books. Works of fiction, references, biography; personal and client work. There was an order to the abundance though despite the overall fullness of the room. He went up to a shelf, selected a book at random and allowed it to fall open in his palm. Leaning near he inhaled deeply. The smell of old books was an intoxicating scent. It was comparable to a woman's perfume: promises of delights and shocks for the senses. With a smile he re-shelved the book.

 _II_

Sarah stirred in her sleep. She was having a very odd dream involving stone and bush hedges. Every few feet a creature would pop over the top of the hedge, holding to a stick, and it would screech some gibberish at her. If that alone wasn't unsettling enough the way the creatures were formed made her draw back in horror. They were fetal in the initial appearance- underdeveloped creatures with dirty pinkish skin and dainty limbs- until one noted the long claws extending from their three fingered appendages. Then there was their eyes: purple lids squinted shut. Sarah couldn't bare to look directly into them. The creatures would open their mouths revealing unnaturally long teeth and proclaim something in an alien, unintelligible vocabulary that would make Sarah run all the more faster. She felt certain they would nip at her skin and hair should she allow them to get too close.

With a start she came awake safe in her own bed. She lay still trying to calm her heart. When she finally felt in control again she rolled over and saw that Toby's bed was already vacant. It was then she heard the television. Its faint sounds was probably what had influenced her dream.

Toby was a ball of energy. At three years old he was a force to be reckoned with. He'd start at the table, take a bite of waffle, and then run to the television where he would loudly tell his sister what the cartoon guys were doing. Sarah nodded in as much understanding as her tired mind could muster. She needed caffeine. Unfortunately her father had deemed caffeinated beverages an excess- too stimulating and all such nonsense- so she would have to wait until she went to work before she felt fully awake. But Toby's enthusiasm helped. She had to admit his excitement could be contagious in a playful way. He ran back towards the table and threw himself into her lap.

"He blew it up!" he exclaimed.

"No way?" she responded, setting aside her bowl of cereal.

"Yeah!"

"So are the good guys gonna win?"

He gasped and ran back to the TV.

Robert chuckled as he sat next to her. "Going back into the shop today?" he asked even though he knew that every Saturday that was exactly where she would be.

"Yeah. I'm supposed to meet Tori though for a quick bike ride through the park before. Actually, I need to go get dressed." She got up and put her bowl in the sink.

Tori Alexander was Sarah's only other friend from high school who had also taken her GE test early and graduated. The two shared a love of reading though Tori's personal choice of story tended to be harlequin romance-type novels. The scantier the cover, the more likely she was to read it. She claimed the books provided her with a thrill outlet in an otherwise boring existence. "I'm never going to get this!" she would proclaim pointing at the shirtless man with taut nipples and well conditioned, wind swept hair. Such claims would then lead her to pointing out all of her flaws: frizzy curly hair, bad complexion, and slightly chubby stomach. And how all such traits worked against her.

When Sarah looked at these broad chested men with pronounced jaw lines she found herself having very little reaction. They were too much. Plus she reasoned a man who has to spend that much time maintaining his pectorals would have very little time for her needs. She wanted someone in shape, but also more lithe instead of muscular. And who had a brain; a mind for literature. That organ being in top physical shape was far more of a turn on than a well defined six pack or glossy locks.

Sarah found her friend engrossed in such a book as she arrived at the park. "Hey Tori!" she said pulling up with her bike .

A single raised index finger was the return greeting. Sarah sighed and shook her head amused.

Finally Tori put the tattered paperback down and dropped it into her backpack. "Never gonna happen," she lamented. "Nature is cruel."

"You're only seventeen dearest. There is yet still hope for us," consoled Sarah.

"Us?" repeated Tori righting her bike. "There is no 'us' in this problem, Sarah. Nature was more than generous with you." She nodded at Sarah's figure.

This was the one part of their friendship that Sarah loathed. Her friend constantly compared her body to hers. Thanks to her mother's genetics Sarah had inherited a curvy body, particularly her top side. While Tori insisted that having big boobs had to be a blessing (one which her friend demonstrated very little gratitude for), Sarah found them to be a complete nuisance. Tshirt shopping was a nightmare and finding her bra size in stock in any color save beige or white was nearly impossible. Not to mention how her bosom seemed to have a will of its own. Thus her regular choice of exercise was biking instead of jogging.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Come on, let's get going. We're going to have to make this quick this morning. I have to go home again before work."

"What's up?"

"I borrowed Mr. Proodle's car last night."

The park was beginning to fill with other cyclists and joggers. The two women maneuvered around several before resuming their conversation.

"Mr. Proodle let you drive his car?" asked Tori in disbelief.

"It was an odd evening," said Sarah beginning to pedal in earnest. "Ending with an even odder dream."

"Do tell!"

One of Tori's other past times was dream interpretation. When she wasn't vicariously experiencing life altering sex she was studying dream symbology. Sarah told her about the strange fetus like creatures, baring their teeth at her and following her down the hedged in path. They had biked the entire path of the park before Tori gave an answer. "At first mutant fetus' would seem to suggest a fear of motherhood," she said.

Sarah scoffed. "Yes, because I've been secretly having unprotected sex with the myriad of men in my life. You found me out!" She rolled her eyes.

"I said at first," corrected Tori. "A baby can also represent a part of yourself that is feeling neglected or needs some attention. Though if these were mutant, goblin babies, I'm not at all sure what that means."

Sarah slowed her bike. There was something unsettling about her friend's interpretation. Was there some deep, dark part of her self that she was suppressing? No. Her days of anger and hurt were past her. She thanked her friend for her input, said that they would meet up again soon, and pedaled like mad to make it back to her house to get Mr. Proodle's car.

The shop's lights were already turned on. The neon open sign flickered red and blue. Sarah was a good fifteen minutes late. She couldn't recall another time when she had been so tardy. Her tipping-in was awaiting examination, her master had offered her a contract, and she was running late. With his car. She paralleled park, grabbed her bag, and fast walked. The door's above bell jingled as she came in, calling out to her boss and apologizing profusely. "Please forgive me," she added closing the door and turning to face him.

A stranger sat at the small desk. "A penitent woman is nothing to waste," he said in an English accent. He wore an oversized grey wool sweater. He had blonde hair which fell haphazardly over his forehead. "I suggest you come here and kiss me by way of demonstrating your remorse."

Sarah stood dumbfounded for a moment. Then snapped. "What?!" she exclaimed.

"We could also skip the kissing and go right for matrimony," the man offered. Then he smiled. No. He grinned. Sarah had often wondered what a Cheshire Cat's grin would look like personified. She fancied she had just found out. "You're simply gorgeous. I have no objections."

Instead of quaking in fear, as some rational part of her said she should, she demanded to know who he was and where Mr. Proodle was located?

He nodded towards the backroom. "Your master is in the back work room."

Sarah gave him as wide a berth as she could in the small shop, clinging to the book shelves, her eyes never leaving his face. "Mr. Proodle?" she called out. She half expected there to be silence. When her master's voice told her that he was indeed in the back, she relaxed a little.

As she moved through the door way the man spoke again, "And the name's Monty."

She didn't bother responding. She wanted to see the familiar face of Mr. Proodle and have his reliable explanation for the abrasive, strange man. "Mr. Proodle?" she called out again.

"Here Sarah my dear," he said. He was standing over one of the work tables. Several ledger books were out and a case of repair tools. Her expression of confusion and disgust must have been apparent, he quickly added, "I see you met Monty on the way in."

"Who is that guy?" she asked.

Mr. Proodle sniffed. "A very talented book binder. And," he paused turning back to the table and selecting a few items. "Here to work."

Sarah's eyes went wide. In the past year Sarah had never questioned any of her master's decisions or bucked at anything he had asked her to do. But the very thought of working with someone like Monty left her sputtering in objection.

"Don't get too worked up my dear. He's compulsively amorous with everyone. But mostly harmless. He has proposed to nearly every woman he's ever met. Yet," he turned to look at her again. "he respects their refusals. He just takes a little getting used to."

Sarah hung up her coat and messenger bag. Not knowing really what else to say she offered him his keys back. The amount of tools and glue going into the case struck her as a lot. "What are you preparing for?" she asked.

"An out of town client needs me," said Mr. Proodle with a sniff. "I'm going to be away for a few days. Thus, Mr. Monty Jones out there."

This was too much. "You expect me to work with him alone?"

"I trust him. Sarah my dear have I ever left you with anyone of ill repute? Or put you in any danger? I certainly won't start now. Besides you are going to be quite occupied with the children's library." He smiled, his waxed mustache growing longer as a result.

Monty and his forwardness was at once forgotten. "Really? My tipping-in set up?"

He set his hands on her shoulders. His smile beamed at her. "Beautifully done. I had wanted to take you out for coffee this morning and congratulate you on a job well done, but alas, you were late this morning." She apologized again. Mr. Proodle patted her affectionately. "You will need to go and speak with the head of the children's section, a Mrs. Primrose. She will give you the books that need attention. Now, I must get going." He closed the case and took the ledger books with him.

Sarah followed him out into the shop. Monty still sat at the desk though now he was studying some intricate calligraphy in a large book. He responded to Mr. Proodle's use of his name and nod, in similar fashion. Real trepidation took hold of Sarah as she watched her boss leave. This man, this Monty Jones, made her decidedly uncomfortable. Get used to a man who demanded she make out with him? Too weird. Though Mr. Proodle had said he respected a refusal. Maybe if she just set down some firm boundaries he wouldn't bother her. The bell jingled above the door as Mr. Proodle left. Sarah squared her shoulders and prepared to address this Monty.

He didn't give her the opportunity. "As a senior restorator I do hope I won't have any trouble with you," he stated not looking up from his book.

Trouble? With her? He had been the one to speak so unprofessionally. He had been the one to make inappropriate comments. "No, Mr. Jones, there won't be any trouble," she said as calmly as she could. "Provided you don't cause any." She stressed her words, hoping her implications were clear: he had better keep his person to himself.

Mr. Jones carefully laid the book flat on the desk, settling the pages so they wouldn't close. The light played off some gold detail on one of the large letters. He turned to look at her. Sarah noticed he had green eyes. "Understood Ms. Williams," he said.

Later as Sarah walked to the library, she reflected on their brief exchange. He had been forward, nearly creepily so, but he had also shown an interest in her. He had wanted her to kiss him. A total stranger! Some of the best encounters were between strangers- at least Tori's scandalous books would say so. And that accent! The way he had addressed her.

Sarah nearly tripped over her feet.

He had known her name. Of course Mr. Proodle could very well have told him her name. He could have been expecting her. That would be the simple explanation. But still. Mr. Poodle was typically so traditional, a formal introduction would not have been out of the ordinary.

She shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets and tried to put all thoughts of Monty Jones out of her mind. She had a contract to start.

 _Author's notes: two things everyone. First I'd like to address Monty and well, his name. I chose this name for a reason. Hardcore David Bowie fans might pick up on it (hint, hint, check his movie characters out). And if you shout the answer in the review section, I won't hold it against you. I strangely like Monty. Second, that being hinted at, I want to remind everyone that we are dealing with the fae and nothing is what it appears to be. You all do not have this sorted. Trust me._


	4. Chapter 4

Sarah heard her stomach rumble. The meeting with Mrs. Primrose had gone really well. The children's librarian had been sharply dressed in a pencil skirt and bright yellow blouse; her hair falling out of a lose bun. There were enough books in need of attention on this occasion that she and her colleagues had cleared a work area in a spare conference room. "You can set up your work station here. We thought it would be more convenient." Sarah was to come by every afternoon until the task was complete.

The time of the meeting as well as the bike rides to and from though had taken up Sarah's usual lunch time. In her hurry that morning she had forgotten to pack a lunch. She was fairly certain there was some trail mix or other snacks back at the shop. She parked and secured the bike and went to the door. Monty sat at the desk still. If Sarah was judging him solely on his looks then she had to admit he was attractive. The way his blonde hair fell messily across his forehead was endearing and cute. When she had caught his eyes earlier this morning their depth had been surprising. A true green. But he was so brash! That sort of dampened any real attraction. That and he surely had to be at least ten, perhaps even fifteen years her senior. With a small groan she went inside. Perhaps he'd let her be and she could get something to eat.

"Afternoon, Ms. Williams," said Monty looking up. He had several pages laid out on the desk and a magnifying glass in one hand.

"Hey," she returned curtly, avoiding his gaze. She made for the back room.

"I bought lunch," he then said. "If you're hungry, there's an extra sandwich and a bag of chips."

She looked back at him: he was leaning very close to one of the sheets of paper, using the magnifying glass. Well this gesture was unexpected. And thoughtful. "Thank you," she said. Food. Real food. And she could eat in the back in peace while he worked.

She smiled as she moved through the doorway only to hear Monty clearly say, "I'll join you in a minute."

Mr. Proodle had arranged the back room to have a safe area where food and drink would not collide with the precious books he cared for. There was a bistro table with two chairs, as well as a mini fridge and a small shelving unit. She found herself sitting at the intimate table with Monty across from her two clear plastic to-go containers with sandwiches and two cups of iced tea. He had actually served her, pulling the containers out from the mini fridge, and offering her the choice of turkey or roast beef. Sarah kept bracing herself for some ridiculous comment. Finally she blurted out, "What are you doing?"

He pulled open his bag of chips. "Eating."

"This morning you proposed to me and now this-" She indicated the food.

"My, but aren't we full of trust issues," he commented before taking a bit of his food.

Her turkey on rye looked really good and her stomach was demanding the food. "I have no reason to trust you," she replied.

"Sarah, it's a sandwich. A thoughtful gesture of a man attempting to get to know his coworker. As far as I know there's no cultural tradition that says accepting a turkey on rye is the equivalent of matrimony."

"Alright," she conceded, her hunger getting the better of her and she began to eat.

"So how does a delightful young thing like yourself end up working among old books?" he asked in between bites.

"Because she wanted to," Sarah replied.

"Really?"

It certainly wasn't the first time Sarah had met with a degree of disbelief regarding her choice in profession. She had explained herself to others before. But there was something about Monty Jones that had her hackles up. "Yep," she said her tone short.

"Delightful conversation is not your strong point," said Monty.

"And age appropriate ones are not yours," she returned.

"Age appropriate? Oh," he said as if the thought had just occurred to him. "The whole jail-bait aspect. You're what- seventeen? I find it hard to believe that you've never had a man pay you compliments before."

"Compliments, yes. But demands to make out with him or acts of consummation, no."

He smiled and laughed, nearly joking on his drink. "I must confess," he said, clearing his throat. "Though I was enamored with your beauty, I would have been at a loss for words or actions had you consented. I am a hopeless romantic and shameless flirt."

Sarah took a drink and considered his explanation. It had sounded like one of the first genuine things he had said to her. Aside from repeatedly pointing out how he found her attractive. Those sentiments, she had little doubt, were also sincere. "I like books," she said by way of answering his question. When he quirked an eyebrow, she continued, "I mean, I like everything about them. The wealth of knowledge and imagination they contain. The art of calligraphy and the detailed renderings that used to accompany stories. Then when one considers the author and how every word came from someone's mind. Then there's the smell. The older the paper and binding process, the better." She paused. The words had rushed from her mouth. It was as if they had been bent up under pressure inside her and given the opportunity to be used, had escaped with abandon.

Monty was smiling at her. Not the mischievous grin of before, but a simpler one. "The printed word is beautiful," he replied. "Like portals to new worlds."

"Exactly."

They spoke of their favorite books and commented on how the approaching digital age could never replace ink and paper. Sarah wondered if she had misjudged him. Mr. Proodle had told her that he was mostly harmless. When she said she needed to get going, that she had plans for the evening, Monty asked, "A date?"

"No. A brother actually. It's our weekend to hang out." She had her coat and scarf on. "See you later Mr. Jones."

"Have a pleasant evening with your baby brother, Ms. Williams."

Earlier Sarah had wanted nothing more than to put Monty Jones out of her head. Now. Now she wasn't sure what she wanted to do. He still unnerved her. But he had made an effort to get to know her. It had been rather nice to be noticed by the opposite sex, even if the man in question was Monty Jones, hopeless romantic and shameless flirt. Of course Mr. Proodle had also called him compulsively amorous. At home, she wondered if he would say the same exact spiel to Tori if he met her.

Her father had taken Toby to the video rental store earlier and had returned home with two different options: Oliver and Company or The Land Before Time. His weekend, his choice she told him when he asked which one to watch. When she mentioned in passing about having a new male coworker about her father had shown interest. "He's… different," she said when he asked her more about him.

Her father had hummed in a deep tone. Not quite a disapproval. "Is he attractive?" he had then asked.

Sarah eyed him. "Yes actually," she had admitted. But then Toby had come running demanding popcorn and for Sarah to hurry up. She had shrugged and thought nothing more of it. They watched The Land Before Time, ate copious amounts of salted popcorn smothered in butter, and Toby passed out at eight-thirty having never seen the fabled Green Valley the little dinosaurs had been desperately searching for. Her father tucked him in and rejoined Sarah on the couch.

"How about a cup of tea?" he asked suddenly, getting back up.

"Sure sounds good."

"I've got a new herbal one to try out. Supposed to have a nice ginger flavor." Sarah could hear him moving about the small kitchen. The microwave dinged. "I'll put a hefty spoonful of honey in it. Tell me, this Monty fella at work, do you think he would be someone you would want to date?"

"Seriously dad?" Sarah asked incredulously. "Why do you want to know that?"

"Humor your old man," he said.

"Maybe. I really don't know whether I like him or if I want to hit him. He's something else entirely. Thanks," she said taking the mug her father offered her. The tea was funky- not really ginger nor fruity. "What is this?" she asked.

"Ginkgo and gotu kola. Supposed to be good for the ol'thinker," he replied tapping the side of his head. He raised his mug as if to say cheers and drank. "You know, it's good to see you taking an interest in your brother." She smiled and nodded. "I wish he could be here all the time."

She took another drink. Her tummy warmed. "I've wondered why you never pressed for more time. Or even full custody. You always say, 'it's complicated.'"

Her father's eyes went far away for a moment. "Do you remember the day I told you Karen and I were separating?"

"Yes. You guys had gone out the night before, everything had seemed alright; at least as alright as our household could get. It seemed a little unexpected."

"I don't regret it," he said quietly. "I wish I could have done better, done more, but leaving Karen was the best decision. Do you remember anything specific about the night before?"

"Before you told us you were separating? I had babysat. I think there had been a storm."

He sat down on the couch again and encouraged her to drink her tea before it got cold. "I never told you the real reason," he said. "Even though Karen and I dated for a year, there were things about her I never really knew. And still yet other things I chose not to know. Karen had a certain special skill set."

"What, she was a secret service agent? A spy?" she joked trying to lessen the mood.

"A witch."

The word hung between them for a moment. Sarah swallowed another mouth full of tea. She had never known her father to be eccentric or given to hallucinations, but this seemed very far-fetched.

"That night," he continued. "everything had come to head."

Sarah remembered the storm. She had come home soaked in her princess costume. Later there had been lightening that lit up the sky as bright as day and thunder that had shook the panes in the window. Window. In her mind she saw something in the window. It flapped and beat at the glass. She took another drink of tea.

"Karen had arranged everything. I had no prior knowledge until right before we left. I didn't know what to do. I suppose I half hoped that it wasn't real. That I would wake up from some dream, but I also knew that she was very capable. If she said she had made some sort of deal…"

Whatever had been at the window was important. The lightening though made it hard to distinguish its shape. Sarah squeezed her eyes and shook her head. The window. The window. "Dad this tea.. it's messing with my head," she said.

"No, Sarah. The tea is helping. The few years we were married I stayed out of Karen's business. Magic and things relating to it- I just didn't want to know. But when," he paused. He seemed to struggle inwardly with something. He shook his head sharply. "Ginkgo and gotu kola. It's known as Memory Tea. It's the one thing I made sure to acquire, so that when the day came that you needed to remember, I could help you."

"Help me?" she asked. It was as if she could hear the the force beating against the glass right here in the apartment. She glanced at the windows expecting to see the specter.

"His spurts of generosity. He said he would leave the choice of the time and day to me."

Now she really felt confused by her father's words and it would have worried her, if her mind hadn't have been completely absorbed in that night with its storm and sounds.

"I never really knew if I would want you to remember," he continued as if he didn't notice her growing agitation. "Maybe it's your approaching birthday. Maybe it's the sudden appearance of this Monty fella. But, it's time you know the truth. And then you can decide how to live out your last year."

The windows in her mind came crashing open. She felt the chill wind and the splattering of rain drops. Did the water sparkle? The truth, like the windows, broke open upon her. She knew she had said the right words. She knew she had been tempted. She knew she had faced dangers untold and hardships unnumbered. That she had fought. She knew him: The Goblin King. Like a sudden down pour she remembered everything.

Wide eyed and panic rising she looked to her father. How does apologize for wishing a sibling away? Hand shaky she gripped her mug trying to steady herself.

"The truth is kiddo," her father continued, not looking her in the face. "is that you shouldn't feel any guilt about what happened that night. Karen made you. She," he paused. "She had made a deal and you were to be the payment. A contract that stated a child for a child." She saw his eyes fill with tears. His chest shook. With a sound that sounded like a whimper he left her and disappeared into the kitchen.

One moment she had been sitting numbly on the couch, a buzzing in her ears. The next she felt the biting cold of the night air against her face. She had managed to fumble into her coat and grab her messenger bag. She couldn't stay in the apartment a moment longer. She had to leave, to break the cursed spell her father's words had woven. Karen had forced her? Her stepmother had been a witch? She was under a contract to the Goblin King? These questions swam in her mind and muddled together. She zipped up her coat and kept walking.

The night was near freezing. Despite the late evening people still rushed about obscured in scarves and hats, bundled against the weather. They passed her without a glance. How could anyone know that she was a marked woman?

Sarah tried to think. The Goblin King: he had been powerful, alluring, and dangerous. He had… She shook her head trying to right the memories. He had told her that she would have to solve his Labyrinth in order to win back Toby. Yes. Had Karen and him worked out this plan together? Was it a gamble to offer her such an opportunity? She didn't know! Calm down, she told herself. What do you know? You know you entered the Labyrinth with a bit of help from Hoggle. Hoggle! Then there had been Ludo and Sir Didymus. They had all become friends. She caught herself as her memories over whelmed her again and leaned against a random store front.

Alright, so all four of them had eventually stormed the castle. Though she had gone on to face the king alone. Hoggle had called him something. A rat? A rat who called himself, something or another. She fisted her hand and slammed it against the wall. This King of the Goblins had taunted her and toyed with her senses. Every. Single. Step. Of the way.

Frig it's cold, she thought putting both her hands back in her pockets.

She needed to go some where to think. Sort through her memories without facing her father or her brother again. She looked around, realizing she hadn't really been paying attention to where she had been walking. Thankfully she knew approximately where she was. Around the next corner should be a coffee shop. A warm room and a quiet corner was what she needed. As she approached she was glad to see it wasn't very busy. She slid into a corner chair and took several deep breaths.

Okay what else do I know? I know that I won back my brother. We both came home. That was important. Something told her she shouldn't have been able to do that. And for the past two years she had completely forgotten about it all.

She sighed and suddenly a cup and saucer appeared on the table in front of her. Her mind had been so preoccupied that it took a few seconds for its appearance to register, and she looked up blankly.

Monty Jones was sliding into the seat across from her, his own cup in hand. Sarah stared at him for a moment. Gone was the bulky wool sweater. In its place he wore a fitted leather coat and a dark sweater. He looked fashionable and fit. He didn't say anything, but nodded at the drink and produced a book which he began to read. She warmed her hands against the cup and tentatively took a sip. It was a vanilla coffee. She looked across at him again. No judgement. Nothing teasing. Not even a hint of superiority. He just sat there reading, leaving her to her own thoughts.

Her jumbled thoughts. How had her life been thrown into a fairy tale? Bargaining with children. Witches. Kings. Magic spells. It was a regular Brothers Grimm soap opera. Next she just needed to acquire a sharp needle from a spinning wheel and collect a gaggle of fairy godmothers. And a prince charming. She eyed Monty again. Then quickly looked down at her drink.

When her cup was empty, he was also done with his own, and the two of them got up from the table together. Outside in the night with the faint glow of the lights she looked up at him, his blonde hair slightly aglow. He seemed to be expectant. For what? She jerked her head in the direction she needed to walk to head back to the apartment. A faint smile appeared on his lips. The two of them fell into step. Sarah found she was grateful for the silent companionship. She simply didn't trust herself to speak. Especially to this man who was still basically a stranger.

He stayed with her until they arrived at the staircase that led up to her apartment. She wanted to express her gratitude. Felt as if she couldn't say it enough. Her father and the mess she had to sort loomed. Sarah felt her brow pinch.

"Goodnight Sarah," said Monty abruptly.

She nodded. "Goodnight Monty."

He turned and walked away. Sarah climbed the stairs.

She found her father asleep on the sofa. Part of her wanted to wake him up so she could yell and rage at him. But she was brought low with an exhaustion. In her room she found Toby in her bed, sprawled awkwardly. She crawled in next to him, brushing his soft hair back. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.


	5. Chapter 5

I

Jareth titled his head and listened to the night. Things were changing. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Events, matters, planetary alignments, his over all well being, all seemed to go a bit wonky when they involved the girl Sarah Williams. As he had learned all too well from their first encounter. She had a tendency to mess up his plans and make alliances with those he rather her not.

"She knows," said a man behind him. "What do you intend to do about that?"

"Nothing."

"And when she figures out she can contact you?" asked the man. "What then?"

"I'll make myself available." He glanced over his shoulder and smirked. "In whatever capacity she needs me."

"Her father is probably going to have a large influence on that note. Her perception of you might not be the best."

The two men considered the night. It was near freezing, but cloudless. Jareth always fancied that the stars seemed sharper in the cold.

"All part of the fun," Jareth commented. He moved away and disappeared.

II

It was Monday morning.

After Toby had gone back to Karen's Sunday evening, Sarah and her father had been left alone in the apartment that now felt too small and close quartered. Where once she had felt safe and warm, she now felt cold and a bit oppressed. Sitting at the small kitchen table she had begun to ask questions and her father had answered to the best of his knowledge.

Prior to their marriage, seeing as she was getting along in her years, Karen had called on an old force to grant her a male child. The Goblin King had answered this call. The bargain was a child for a child, specifically a girl for a boy. The Goblin King was most insistent on this point. Robert was not entirely sure if this was a specific rule or if it had been a whim. Regardless, Karen had made the deal: a year and six months following the birth of her son, she would need a daughter to give to him as payment. When Sarah asked if marrying her father and gaining Sarah as a stepdaughter had helped fulfill the contract Robert grimaced. It implied that Karen had not married him for love. "I've often wondered that," he had admitted. "In retrospect I did seem like an easy mark."

When Karen had finally told him, it had been the night Sarah was supposed to call upon the king and be swept away to the Underground. She had been given the right words, left alone with a screaming baby: it was the perfect set up. What none of them- himself, Karen nor the king- had bet on happening though was Sarah using the right words on Toby. This Robert had learned after the fact. The Goblin King had explained to him and Karen that he had made allowances, re-ordered time, cast multiple spells to ensure his payment. Yet Sarah had resisted. To the point where her and her brother had been returned home, as was the reward for finishing his Labyrinth. A fact that had most perturbed the king.

"Now," her father had said shifting in his chair. "I was aware of the contract. I grasped at any angle I could think of to render it null and void. You were my daughter and under my protection. You were under age. You had been returned home. Anything in the heat of the moment! I was not going to let him take you. So I renegotiated the contract. I pleaded with him to let me raise you until you were an adult. It bought me three more years." He had begun to cry. Seeing her father emotional had been uncomfortable.

…

Sarah picked at a spot of glue on the work desk. She wished Mr. Proodle was back. Speaking about lore and the fae would be easier with him. He appreciated the old ways and had a depth of knowledge about creatures and their habits. Sarah had some knowledge: not to eat fruit offered by the fae, avoiding fairy rings, and the use of cold iron. But this, whew, this was uncharted territory. She had to admit to a fair amount of fear, as well as anger.

Behind her the door opened and light from the shop hit in the face momentarily blinding her. She had been sitting in near darkness. She had gotten up and headed in super early to be alone with her thoughts. Monty clicked on the over head light. "You're here early," he commented surprised to see her. "Want me to turn the light back out?"

She shook her head. Seeing him again she had wondered if it would be awkward. Surprisingly it wasn't. She actually felt something near a calm at seeing him again.

He hung up his jacket. He looked at her for a moment. "Want to finally talk about it?"

Sarah looked away. If she told him the absolute truth she would sound insane. He would have fuel to make fun of her. No. Monty wasn't that sort of man. He was forward, but he wouldn't tease her. There had to be a way to talk about it without saying all the fantastical bits though. "I," she paused and looked back up at him. "I got some bad news yesterday."

"That was more than apparent."

"It was sort of like a business deal gone wrong. Let's say," her eyes scanned the room trying to put the situation the right way. "you had a co-worker who made a business contract to an outside company promising them your shares of the parent company."

"Theoretically?" he questioned. "Well that would be very illegal without your consent."

"I know. Your lawyer has tried to renegotiate the contract, to keep the outside company happy, but still they are your shares and you are not ready to give them up. You really had no intention of giving them up."

"Not even if this outside company offered compensation?"

"He hasn't. I mean they haven't," she quickly covered. "Besides this outside company is...questionable."

Monty leaned on the door frame and seemed to give her story serious consideration. He was wearing the over sized sweater again and he picked at a random fuzz while he thought. "Have you considered further legal action? Taking it to court?"

She shook her head. "Unfortunately that's not really an option."

Monty raised an eyebrow. "Well, there might be a simpler option. You say your lawyer has spoken with this company, but have you spoken with them?"

"Me?"

"Yes. Some times with problems a personal touch goes a long way. Perhaps seeing the actual person instead of just the company shares will soften them."

Sarah leaned back in her chair. If she recalled rightly the night she had wished away her baby brother, she had been granted certain powers. Could she really just call the Goblin King? She didn't want to make a wish. No, she just wanted to confront him. Of course that night she had also been partially convinced that the king had been in love with her. Now there is the making for an awkward reunion, she thought exhaling sharply. "Just talk to them?" she asked out loud.

"Who knows?" said Monty shrugging before turning to go back to the front of the shop. "They just might be feeling generous."

III

Instead of going home that evening Sarah went to the neighborhood park. She had made sure to call her father telling him not to have dinner waiting, that she would take care of herself tonight. It probably sounded as if she were avoiding his presence and no doubt he would feel hurt. Truth was she really wasn't ready to spend much time with him. And what she needed to do was best done alone. She went as deep into the park as she could, checking for as much seclusion as possible.

She parked her bike and leaned it against a tree. Her scarf around her face was itchy, she lowered it and breathed easier. She stomped her feet in the cold. "Okay, you can do this," she said out loud to herself. "This is your life. Right? Right. And under no circumstances are you going to let this guy take away your future. You've got plans!" She paused briefly. "Plans involving more books and time spent around old things, but your future no less! And if that's what you want to do then that's your choice." Even to her own ears her pep talk was sounding a little weak. She rallied. "You're going to call him here- you'll say,'Goblin King, I need to speak to you!' He is going to listen to you! King or not, he cannot simply lay claim to you. Not without your consent. This is the twentieth century for crying out loud and women have rights! No one in flashy tight pants is going to take away those rights!"

"So you did notice," said a voice.

Sarah whipped around: he had come. He wore all black, more shadow than man, he blended in with his surroundings. The only thing that seemed to catch the sparse light was his hair: so fair, it was more of an ethereal glow around his head. He had come. Not like a storm, but like a spider- quiet and stealthy. But she hadn't actually said anything. She had thought out loud about calling him, but… her thoughts trailed to a stop. She had said it out loud. Good enough, it would seem.

He had spoken with a hint of sardonic observation. Sarah bit down hard on the inside of her lip. Why had she made an off handed remark about his pants? With a slight shake of her head, she focused. He was here and there were things that needed to be said.

"We need to talk," she said.

"Such directness," he replied. Dark moved against dark- a cape rustling. "After two years, surely we can revel in our reunion in a better fashion."

Hands in her pockets Sarah shrugged. "How are you?" she offered in flat tones. She was not going to let him ruffle her. Her memories of him had righted enough in her mind to know that he enjoyed throwing her off balance.

"Better," he replied as if her cordialness was acceptable. "And my health is perfect, thank you."

A silence settled. Sarah worked her toes in her shoes to keep them warm. Her father had warned her that the king could be enigmatic. She went back to her original purpose. "So, we need to talk," she said again.

"We?" he questioned. "I did not call this meeting. I think it is safe to say it is you, Sarah, who wants to talk."

"Alright. As a matter of fact, I do. It has come to my attention that you own a contract on me." That fair head tilted in a nod. "Made by someone who did not have authority over me."

"You are referring to the witch, Karen?"

It sounded strange to hear someone call her stepmother a witch. It had been hard to believe when her father had told her- neat, tidy, and irksome Karen was in fact a witch. It didn't hurt or sting. It merely made the fact more real. "Yes. That alone should have broken the contract. You," she fumbled for the words for a moment and then plunged forward, "You have no power over me."

A simple, "No. And I do."

Those words should have had an affect. "I wasn't her's to give up!" she exclaimed.

The king walked closer. Something in the taste of the air changed as he moved. Sarah was reminded of a hot summer afternoon when the rays from the sun met with the water splashes of a sprinkler. "No," he said again. "My contract with the witch was as legal and binding as any. She asked for a son, I guaranteed her a son. So long as a girl child was given to me as payment." He stopped in front of her. He held up a gloved hand. "You were a child." He ticked off a finger. "Undeniably a girl." Two fingers were ticked off. "And that made you legal tender. Your stepmother's means to end was terribly crafty, but viable no less."

A bit of real trepidation settled in the pit of Sarah's stomach. She swallowed. "Then why did you allow my father to renegotiate?" she asked.

A rustling as he shrugged. "Leniency seemed like the appropriate course of action for the man. Faced with the prospect of losing both of his children, he made the right plea for more time. Ahh," he breathed as something he said caused Sarah's expression to falter. "You had not considered the repercussions had the contract been dissolved. Tsk, tsk, oh dear."

Sarah had felt her eyes widen and her jaw slack as he had spoken. The contract was a child for a child. Her brother. "Toby," she whispered.

"The boy would have had to have been returned," stated the king.

Sarah felt anger. How could he stand there discussing lives so casually? "You monster!" she bit out.

He chuckled. "I suppose. But tell me Sarah." He leaned near. Sarah was allowed full view of his face and she was struck with the unsettling force of his eyes. This wasn't just a man. This was a creature of the Underground. "Who's more the monster: the one who does as he is bid? Or the one who does the asking?" He leaned back with a cool gaze. "Your anger is sorely misplaced."

Her anger burned. "You had the power to leave both of us alone! You chose not to! That makes you just as guilty Goblin King!" When he said nothing more, but continued to look at her so passively, she railed on, "You like to boast of great powers and generosity, but at the end of the day you're a manipulative prick! And I will never belong to you. You hear me? Never!" And for emphasis she went to shake her fist at him, only to find her hands stuck in her pockets. She struggled. Some how her pockets had tightened around her wrists and she could not free herself.

The king blinked and flicked his eyes towards her feet. "Do be still," he said.

It was instantaneous: Sarah's whole body froze. Her spine straightened, her head drew back and her limbs went still. Her heart thumped maddeningly as sheer panic took hold of her. Her eyes could still move and she glanced around praying for someone to walk by on an evening stroll or a dog walker. But it was so cold. Who in the right mind would be out right now? She blinked back the sting of tears.

She heard him sigh. Then he took a step closer. "The thing you need to understand Sarah. The one key element that keeps eluding you is this: you already belong to me. You are mine. Sorry, but you are done talking for the night," he added as her cheeks worked, but failed to move her mouth. "Not only will you come to me when you turn eighteen, but you will do so willingly. You will chose me. Enjoy it even." He smirked. "But to prove how generous I really am, I want you to try to court someone. Go out and mingle. Just try to get yourself a boyfriend."

Sarah's mind was a white hot mess of words and phrases she didn't know she was even capable of thinking. She let everything burn, washing angry heat over her whole body. When she felt his gloved finger touch her cheek she wanted to flinch. Or worse she wanted to bite the appendage.

"But you are beautiful when you're being stubborn," he murmured. He caressed her face again.

Sarah thought for certain that he was going to press his advantage and do something inappropriate. She expected him to try to kiss her. Her stomach knotted and she tasted acid in her mouth at the prospect. Instead he simply lingered for a moment longer, withdrew his hand, and stepped back.

"I look forward to our next talk," he said and was gone. A slight breeze and Sarah felt control of her body return.


	6. Chapter 6

Sarah started her afternoons at the library with forced enthusiasm. The library was a massive building with two floors given over to the general public and a basement for special collections. This lower level was typically saved for special events and fund raisers. The upper two levels housed the multiple genres that the public could browse and check out at their leisure. What Sarah particularly loved about the library was the pyramid style stair case that led to the front entrance: its stone steps were smooth and worn. Sarah some times liked to imagine she was on her way to a wizard's keep or exploring a Gothic mansion. Some times. But on the day following her confrontation with the Goblin King she was hard pressed to be impressed.

Ms. Primrose had made good on her word and she had a conference room to herself. A long meeting table was in the middle of the room, along with several generic wooden arm chairs. The walls were decorated in large reprints of well known pieces of art: Pablo Picasso's "Starry Night", Gustav Klimt's "The Kiss" and George-Pierre Seurat's "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" were among the ones Sarah recognized. This particular conference room also sported a faux mantel with an electric fireplace. It's fake flames danced in a warm wind and the heat was forced out special vents.

Sarah sighed, as she set down her work case and removed the backpack she had brought with her. From the backpack she took out a protective drop cloth to cover the table should any glue drip. She went to the far side of the room: some five cardboard file storage boxes were stacked with books in need of repair. The first box was filled with the usual children's books: torn and or lose pages. She would need glue as well as nonacid tape to put those to rights. She set to work.

Her first day passed in a bit of a numb blur. She repaired well, giving credit to her master's training. But her heart wasn't in it. Her thoughts kept wondering back to what the king had said, _"You already belong to me. You will chose me."_ Sarah felt her stomach quiver. There was something suggestive, no, near dirty about a man saying she belonged to him. Belong. As if she were property or a trinket that could be bought.

She tore a piece of tape.

Belong. There was an exclusiveness to the word. It spoke of a relationship- intimate and personal. If she were being blunt, it spoke of sex. Sarah wasn't naive, but she wasn't exactly experienced either. She understood the mechanics of being with another person- what went where and at least where certain erogenous zones were located. But she had never fully been with a guy. Most her age had not impressed her enough. Too fumblely or intent on the end goal. The thought of sex with the Goblin King more frightened her than anything. It was hard to picture him as gentle.

Of course he had also said other things. He had told her to try and get a boyfriend. As if she wasn't capable of dating or catching the eye of the opposite sex. The words had felt like a challenge. She could. And she would. Some how. She had 'gone out' with some guys before. She had met friends at movies and hung out in groups before. There had even been a few make out sessions in the back of a car. She had always just assumed that there would be plenty of time for dating and a sex life later, some where in her twenties. If she established herself in a meaningful relationship would that break his hold on her?

By day two she had made a list in her head of all the places she could potentially meet a boyfriend. The cafe. The park. Even here at the library seemed a decent place to start. Provided she ever got to spend time outside this conference room.

The door to the conference room opened and in walked Ms. Primrose carrying a smaller box. "How are you doing in here?" she asked sweetly.

"Good. Most of the books so far only need minor repairs." She nodded at the pile on the table.

"Excellent. I have a favor to ask." She indicated the box she held. "These paper backs are in need of some TLC and I need them done today. There's a book club meeting tonight and these had slipped my mind."

Sarah rose from her chair. "As long as they don't need any extensive gluing, they should be ready for use by tonight. I don't mind."

"Good. And here's the actual favor part: would you mind re-shelving them when you're done? I have a meeting with a patron. It's not too much to ask?"

"It's fine," Sarah assured her.

"You really don't mind? Thank you!" She transferred the box to Sarah's arms. "And if I don't see you later, have a wonderful evening," said Ms. Primrose before leaving.

Sarah reached into the box and pulled out one of the paperbacks and nearly burst out laughing: they were all romance novels. The extreme tacky sort that her friend Tori would be drooling over. She hefted the one in her hand: it boasted a male who looked Native American with nipples that could cut diamonds and a stomach that could double as a cutting board. She glanced up half expecting Tori to come rushing through the door, the scent of shirtless males setting her off like a Pavlovian dog. And these were for a book club? Sarah smiled and shook her head.

Repairing most mass produced paperbacks was rather like putting off the inevitable. They were cheaply printed and bound, and their patrons usually resorted to folding over the back cover out of embarrassment or hiding it in places that caused tears and creases. She could make them last a little longer, but their life span was not expected to be long.

This last observation struck her hard as she repacked the books in the box. She was like a cheap paper back. Or rather her life was.

With a huff she lifted the box and went out into the library. The fiction section was located on the second story. She opted for the stairs instead of the elevator. The exercise helped to work off some of her frustration. Romance had its own set of shelves near the back. She found the other books and began to shelve, trying to lose herself in the scent of paper.

A man spoke, "So this is your guilty pleasure!"

Sarah jumped nearly dropping the box. "Monty!" she exclaimed and then lowered her voice. "Jeez you scared me!"

He laughed. "What are you doing up here performing page duties?"

"A favor to Ms. Primrose." She eyed the books on the shelf. Even for a self proclaimed shameless flirt and hopeless romantic, she found it hard to believe this was his genre of choice. "What are you doing up here?"

He took a book at random from the box. "What- a man can't expand his horizons? Or other bodily appendages?" he commented scanning a page. "Are these really any good?"

"Some find them quite captivating," Sarah answered returning to her work.

Monty spoke, "Her skin was smooth, as if caressing the finest silk. It felt nearly blasphemous for his callused fingers to touch something so pure, so divine. Yet with each stroke he heard her breathing quicken, encouraging him to touch her more. With reverence he knelt before her."

Sarah had gone quite still, her arm extended to return a book. It had only taken a second for her to realize he was reading aloud from the book. She should have been blushing. Instead she felt incredibly turned on. His accent paired with those words had been a small storm of electricity. Monty hadn't read it as something lascivious, but with an appreciative near holy respect.

"It gets quite graphic," he then commented. "Shall I continue?"

Sarah turned away. "You shouldn't read stuff like that out loud."

"Bursting pants and swelling bosoms don't do anything for you?"

She had to recover herself. How Monty could so easily go from sincere to sardonic was a talent she had trouble grasping. She took a deep breath. Monty was not ideal boyfriend material. Her hormones coming to attention in regards to his person were not a good idea. "I honestly don't care much for reading romance novels," she said by way of dismissing the topic.

"Shame. I was considering modeling for the cover of one."

Sarah had to look back at him after that comment: he was holding the book's cover next to his face. The strong jaw line and well tanned physic of the fictional man was a sharp contrast to the pale, fair haired profile of Monty Jones. He actually looked hopeful. Sarah didn't trust herself, so she laughed, and said, "Stop it." And some how that calmed her body and her misbehaving hormones.

"Actually," said Monty after a brief lapse of silence. "I came looking for you. Wanted to know if you wanted to grab an early dinner? I'm a lazy bachelor without much in my fridge, and I really didn't feel like dining alone." He handed her the book.

"Um," she began, uncertain.

"You've already dined with me twice," he pointed out. "Haven't I been good company?"

Go home and brood over dark thoughts, or go out and mingle? The thought actually gave her some confidence. The king after all had taunted her, made it seem as if she couldn't do all of the normal things women her age were supposed to. Monty was watching her closely. She didn't understand why he wanted to hang out with her. She also didn't understand why she actually wanted to hang out with him. But she heard herself agree to dinner.

After using the phone at the front desk to call home, the two of them retrieved her bike and began to walk. They stopped by the book shop first to put the work case and backpack away. Monty suggested a Thai place a few blocks over. "So," he said as they walked. "what is Sarah William's policy on honesty?"

"How so?" she asked.

"Are you a person prone to always tell the truth or is the occasional lie acceptable?" he explained.

Sarah zipped up her coat. "The truth. Lies just complicate things," she answered, the sting of her father and Karen's lies still fresh.

"Truths can as well. It can also hurt more," he added.

She shook her head. "I disagree. Lies hurt more. The truth might be inconvenient and you might not like how it makes you feel, but it can be dealt with, you know? One can then make a plan. A lie is disrespectful."

"I see." He seemed to give her answer some thought. "But what about the little lies we are all guilty of using? Oh like telling little kids Santa is real."

"Imagination and lies are two different things," Sarah countered. "No matter how much we talk about Santa we also leave plenty of evidence that shows he isn't real." She glanced at him. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

"What about you? What's your policy on honesty?"

"Mixed. And that is an honest answer. I'm not always convinced that the truth needs to be said. That there are some things that should just be left alone."

"But isn't that the same as actually telling the lie?"

He stopped walking and turned to face her. "Ask me if I consider this a date."

She looked into his green eyes. "Is this a date?" she asked uncertain if she wanted to know.

He merely shrugged.

"That's not an answer!" she snapped.

"And it's also not a lie. I am choosing not to comment. To not say anything."

They started walking again. "I'm not sure I like that approach," Sarah said. "It sorta feels like a cop-out. You don't commit to an answer therefor you have no responsibility."

"It allows for things to play out naturally. There's no pressure. If I had said, yes, this is a date what would you have done? Hmm? Turned all awkward and pointed out the difference in our ages. I don't commit to an answer and we have enjoyable evening with no expectations."

And if you had said that this wasn't a date? Sarah thought to herself. She couldn't come up with the proper emotion for that outcome. Parts of her had warmed up to Monty's forthrightness. He was so blunt and brash, that one had to react in kind or become ruffled. He could also be disarming and make her laugh. Though he had also just admitted that withholding information or truths was a practice he indulged in. That character flaw made other parts of Sarah uncomfortable.

For the remainder of the week they fell into a routine together. In the morning Monty would make sure her work case was probably supplied and after working at the library he would meet her for an early dinner or a coffee. Sarah was sure to never stand too close or give him any encouragement. Or at least she tried her best not to. It was hard not to be appreciative when he paid for everything or made it a point to always hold a door open for her. Or to feel a special bond when they both learned they had accelerated in their education: Sarah taking her GE test early, and Monty attending college before he even graduated. "I was bored," he admitted. "I needed stimulus that my secondary teachers couldn't provide. What about you?"

"For me it was more about freedom. I looked around at all of my classmates, each of us all reading the same text books or working towards the same end goal, and I felt suffocated. I wanted to exercise my own choice, make my own decisions. So I graduated early and set out to find Mr. Proodle. I was sixteen and had a completely different, unique set of goals apart from everyone my age. And it felt good." She had done it again: speaking in a long rush of words that normally she kept to herself. Just as she had done when he had asked her about choosing her apprenticeship.

When Saturday arrived Sarah arrived at the shop and slowly secured her bike. She wasn't going to work at the library today. Normally the weekends was when Mr. Proodle had her practice a new technique and help tidy up some paper work. With her master gone still out of town though she wondered how she was going to spend her time. Once inside she heard a loud thud and the sound of metal clanging. "Monty?" she called out.

A grunt. "Back here!" he responded.

She went into the back room to find Monty shoving around five book presses on one of the larger work tables. "Wow. Where did you get all of these?"

"Well, has two and the other three are mine. Ever done Hinge Tightening?" he asked.

Hinge Tightening was a method to re-secure a book that had in essence come away from it's spine. There were a few other elements to take in account when considering this method, first and foremost being that the endpapers were still securely attached to the text block. "With some Masonite boards for weight before, sure," she replied. "Mr. Proodle had me practice on some inconsequential books. But I haven't used a book press before, and I've certainly never seen someone attempt five at once."

"I have a client who needs five books tightened and ready to go by the time the weekend is through. Five books, five presses, you and me."

Sarah blew air out her lips impressed at the magnitude of the request. "I don't know if I'm ready for this. Isn't there someone else you would trust to help you?"

"Yes, but he's away right now. Besides I would be a little remiss as a senior restorator if I didn't pass on some knowledge. Come on, we better get started. All five books will need to be pressed so they can dry over night."

They began. Before even retrieving the books in question Monty switched on a dehumidifier, and then produced five volumes that were obviously in desperate need of some care. Some of the covers were frayed. Sarah could see uneven paging. She was unsure any simple Hinge Tightening was going to save these books. They both donned clothe gloves to prevent any oil from their own hands coming into contact with the paper. Sarah assisted providing shallow bowls of glue and clean knitting needles to slide behind the spine.

Monty inspected each book thoroughly, testing their text blocking, checking their pages. Sarah watched both fascinated with his skill and at the detailed calligraphy that graced the yellowing pages. When it came time press the first one she did so reluctantly, wanting to see the intricate lettering again. Her hands twisted the bar down, careful not to smoosh the book, but merely secure it. As Monty readied the next one, she carefully opened up one of the books to peer at the artistry. Vibrant reds and deep blues formed a wreath for the first letter. Delicate flowers budded along the outline. Poised in front of the word was a deer with antlers in silver detail. She had absolutely no idea what the language was or what it was trying to communicate. It simply struck her as beautiful.

At her shoulder Monty explained that it was an old story about the god of the forest: his glove tipped finger pointed at the deer with its silver antlers. "He watches the world from the safety of the trees, a quiet observer and dedicated protector. Some times," he continued carefully turning the page to reveal a full illustration. "a woman rides with him."

They only stopped for lunch. Monty discovered several with pages that would need to be tipped in once the tightening was done. Reaching for the last press Sarah felt her arms grow weary. It had been a long, tedious day. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck. The turning mechanism screeched as she tried to twist. It barely budged. She widened her stance to gain better leverage and tried again. She didn't want to disturb the setting of the weight by struggling too much. "Monty, this one is stuck," she said. She huffed and tried once more.

His arm with his sleeve rolled up appeared and his hand grasped the bar next to her own hand. Sarah clearly saw skin and muscle tighten as with one good forceful motion the bar moved and began to rotate freely. "Stubborn thing," he said near her head.

She looked at him wondering if that had been directed at her or at the machine. There wasn't any jest to his expression though. "Thanks," she said. She felt several of his fingers brush against hers.

"Thank you," he replied. He wouldn't move away.

The heat of his body was warm against her side. Just touching. Sarah knew she should turn away, that their continued closeness was not in either one of their best interests. There were so many reasons not to get involved any further. So many reasons that she was having an impossible time remembering. He had been so kind, so attentive. Monty Jones could solve all her problems. Or start a whole fresh batch of them, came the treacherous thought. She felt his hand on the bar slide to cover hers.

Then the bell over the shop door jingled.

She distinctly heard both of them take in a sharp breath. "There's someone in the shop," she said. It sounded lame and inconsequential. Who cared? They were in the back where no prying costumer eyes could see them.

Monty hummed and his brow puckered slightly.

"Sarah, my dear, are you in? Monty?" called a familiar voice.

The sound of her master was enough to finally break the trance. She looked away from the man standing next to her. "Mr. Proodle is back," she said. Stating the obvious seem to help ground her thoughts. It would be inappropriate for him to see her fraternizing with the one left in charge. Taking a deep breath she side stepped a bit. "Back here!" she called out. And then to Monty, "Better get this tightened before the glue sets wrong."

"Right," he nodded. "Wouldn't want anything wrong to happen. Excuse me." She moved away more to allow him to finish tightening the bar, securing the book.

Mr. Proodle was impressed with the project and pleased to see that his apprentice and associate were working well together. He apologized that his out of town client had kept away for far longer than he had intentionally intended. "There had been a water leak and much concern for the safety of his collection. So Monty, how long will this project take?" he asked referring to the book presses.

"I should be able to collect everything Sunday evening," replied Monty. He had retreated to the far side of the work table, keeping the presses between him and everyone else. He looked from Mr. Proodle to Sarah. "And then I shall leave."

Sarah shouldn't have felt anything. Nothing had actually happened. She excused herself and went to hide in the bathroom. She could hear her master thanking Monty for his help and how he would be sure to call on him again in future. Sarah shut and locked the door. Monty Jones would never be able to help her. He was going away. He didn't even live near by for all she knew. She leaned against the sink, fighting a swelling of hot tears. She had been so caught up in doing what every normal teenage girl did- showing interest in a guy, socializing with more than just Tori, and enjoying her work- that she had completely let slip the fact that it was all temporary. With Monty leaving she was back at square one. Less than a year until her contract was due.

 _Author's Notes: I just have to pause here and give a round of high fives to all my reviewers. Seriously! Ya'll just stay fabulous! And a special mention to LovelyAmberLight who brims with deliciousness in her PMs. Never before have I had someone run amuck with such cruel fluffiness before._


	7. Chapter 7

_I_

"Oh what am I doing? What am I doing? What AM I doing?" Sarah questioned herself in a distressed chant.

It was Sunday evening and she was standing outside the book shop with two coffees in a to-go carrier. Following Monty's announcement on Saturday that he would be leaving, Sarah had slunk out the door and gone home. Depressed and feeling defeated she had spent the remainder of the night restless. She had failed at the Goblin King's challenge.

A phone call from Tori had helped to change her mood. "Look you've been wearing the face of a smitten damsel for the past week. Don't argue with me. I've read enough about lust and love to identify it quite clearly on other people. I said don't argue," she snapped again when Sarah had objected. "Whatever this guy does for you, it has been good. And besides he ain't gone yet."

"What are you suggesting?" asked Sarah cradling the phone against her shoulder. "I start blaring Peter Gaberl at him from my boom box?"

"Hey it worked for John Cusack. But if that's too forward for you, how about you bring him some coffee? He'll be working late, right?"

So without stopping to think, without considering age or distance, Sarah had set out Sunday evening to bring Monty coffee. Through the glass front door the small lamp on the desk illuminated the room enough for her to see though to the back: Monty was back there gathering his belongings. She could just make out the dark grey of his shirt and his blonde head moving around. Sarah felt the warmth of the steam coming from the two cups of coffee. It washed over her face. Right before entering she had stopped and asked herself the same question over and over again: what am I doing? Was she going to throw herself at him? Kiss him passionately? Shake his hand coldly and say, good luck?

She just couldn't imagine not having him there to talk to any more. It wasn't that she forgot her age around him or that he made her feel more mature. No. It was more like she was made more aware of exactly who she was. That as Sarah Williams she was perfectly acceptable to Monty Jones. She couldn't just let him walk out of her life.

With a decisive sigh she went inside. It was so much warmer in the shop. Sarah worked the zipper down on her coat as she walked, balancing the carrier in one hand. She still felt too warm. When Monty stepped out to see who had opened the door, she felt decidedly uncomfortable. She had come to adore the way his hair fell over his eyes, as if styling his hair was too much trouble when there were books to be tended to. "What are you doing here?" he asked. He actually seemed genuinely surprised to see her.

"I brought you coffee," she said lamely, offering up the cups. "I-," she paused. His expression seemed to teeter between surprise and confusion. For a second she wondered if she had misinterpreted everything he had done or said this past week. If his nearness and touch of his hand had some how been romanticized in her own mind. "I just wanted to stop by and say goodbye," she said setting the carrier down.

He looked at the cups for a moment. "I don't need two cups of coffee," he said, reaching for one. "Stay and have the other." He offered it to her. When she took it he made a comment about locking the front door. "Don't need anyone just meandering inside after hours," he said. "Come on in the back."

Three of the book presses were gone from the work table. A fourth one was empty. The fifth was still tightened down on a book. "Having some trouble with this last one," he explained when she asked after it. "I was going to give it some more time and get going later." He sipped his coffee and leaned on a table.

Sarah laid her coat across a chair. Now that she had come and was inside with him she was uncertain what to do next. If anything her arrival was good timing: she could keep him company while he waited. Still sitting in awkward silence didn't seem like the best course of action. "I never did tell you what happened," she began. "with that business deal gone bad."

"Right." He nodded. "Your company shares were in some danger if I remember right. Did you take my advice?"

"Yep." She watched as he turned away and began sorting some tools. "It didn't go very well."

With his back towards her he said, "A shady business deal, a contract gone wrong, and a company that doesn't do the honorable thing. I'm beginning to wonder if you either have mob ties or are in deep with a pimp."

Sarah rolled her eyes grateful for the brief respite of humor. "I wish I could better explain it," she admitted. "The truth is rather surreal."

"But you prefer honesty. So why not?" he asked. "Why not just tell me exactly what is going on? Our last night together, let's just have it all out."

Sarah studied her coffee for a bit. If he was leaving, then it wouldn't really matter whether or not he thought her crazy. It shouldn't bother her. Her eyes wandered to the book press. Under it's metal plates was the book with the story about the god of the forest and the woman who some times rode with him. Bed time stories for children or religious accounts to maintain a belief? "The god of the forest," she began to say. She thought about all of the ancient knowledge she had gathered over the years. It wasn't much. "You called him the silent observer and a protector. He's also a father. He's the ancient king of fairy and all his children call him Oberon." She paused, licking her lips. For a moment she could smell the strange scent of water on a summer afternoon. The memory of the Goblin King hit her hard and her head ducked as if he had just moved close to her.

She heard Monty ask, "Are you in trouble with the king of fairy?"

A simple clarification question had not been what Sarah had been expecting. She had actually expected some skepticism."No," she said. "With one of his children. Monty, look at me." She wanted to see his face. To know what he thought of her. "I need to see your face." He did turn around. His face showed concern as well as soberness. "The king of the goblins owns a contract on my life," she explained.

"That is serious business," he stated.

Sarah felt relief at having finally told someone. She sat on the edge of the work table to support herself. Even if it was just the tip of the iceberg, someone now knew the burden she carried. When Monty encouraged her to tell him everything, she heard her voice re-account the story her father had told her: the witch's bargain, the child given, and how Sarah was his payment. As the words came out Sarah was surprised at how tired she sounded. Just a few days ago she had been brimming with anger, willing to shake her fist in defiance at the magical king. Now she felt exhaustion and an over whelming abundance of sadness. "And he has no intention of letting me go," she finished, wiping away a tear. "I don't know what to do."

Monty had turned away again. "Do you hate him?" he asked.

"Maybe. I don't know." Sarah searched herself. She sniffed. "I mean, based on what l do know about him it certainly is hard to like him. Or even understand him."

"He's a fae," said Monty as he played with a tool. "You're human. It will be difficult for you two to understand each other."

"You really believe me?" she pressed.

"I have no reason to doubt you."

Sarah wiped her cheeks trying to regain control of her emotions. "So you're saying I should I try to understand him?" she asked.

Monty turned back around to face her. He held a small x-acto knife in his hand which he pointed at himself. "Did you like me the first time we met?" he asked.

Sarah was fairly certain she saw just a hint of a smirk. When he switched gears like this she was always a bit unsure how to act. Though she knew he wouldn't like it, she shrugged for an answer.

"Tsk. Silly girl." He pointed the tip of the knife in her direction. "You can't adopt my policy on honesty. I won't let you." He plucked a tissue from a box and coming near he stood before her. "You prefer honesty. Did you like me?" he asked again, offering her the tissue.

Sarah met his eyes. "No. You actually made me very uncomfortable." She took the offered tissue.

Monty put the knife down on the table. "And now?" He leaned forward. "Do I still make you uncomfortable?"

Her mind screamed a resounding yes- he made her painfully yet delightfully uncomfortable. This was pointless! He was leaving! Why should she let her hormones roll with glee at his nearness? Or allow her imagination to speculate what it would feel like to kiss him?

"You gave me a chance," Monty said before she could answer. "And now you trust me." He leaned away. Sarah swallowed and tried to work up enough moisture to stop the dryness that had settled in her mouth. "You don't know much about him." He produced another tissue and gently wiped her cheeks. "Perhaps the question you should be asking is why does the ancient god need a woman to ride with him?"

Sarah felt a surge of annoyance. "What if I don't want to know why? What if I simply don't care?" she asked indignantly. "For crying out loud, I don't want to go with him!"

Something in Monty's expression shifted: an intensity that hadn't been there before burned in his green eyes. "I," he started to say something, only to stop. He sighed and stepped away from her. "It was just a suggestion. Know your enemy and all that."

Sarah blinked. "You really do believe me."

"Sarah in my line of work I have read a good many books: lore, religion, mythology; bed time stories to scare the little children straight." He smiled as if recalling a fond memory. "That and my ancestry has a long history of respecting the fae. Sure, you know, the usual: saucers of milk, a spontaneous song in their honor. I was taught to honor them. Believing someone has had an actual encounter with one isn't far fetched to me. You struck me as sensitive the first time I met you."

Sarah looked away. Monty was right of course. What he didn't know though was just how much interaction she'd had with the fae. She had left out the part about running the Labyrinth and what temptations that Goblin King had offered her. She wasn't just sensitive. She was marked. Or was the term touched? Either way her very existence was tainted with the fae. "I wish you weren't leaving," she told him.

"I'll be back. Mr. Proodle is bound to need my help again eventually."

And there was her answer about whether or not he thought of her as more than a friend. He had been here to help Mr. Proodle. Their time together had been a happy side effect of him coming to work. A compulsive amorous man who had befriended a young woman. "Yeah, probably," she agreed. It was strange how knowing this truth stung. She moved to get down off the desk. Monty bared her way though with his arm. She grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from sliding off. "Uhh," she got out.

"Promise me something Sarah," he said leaning near again, unaware of her precarious balancing act. That intensity was back in his eyes again. A green fire that muddled all of her previous conclusions. "Promise that you will take my advice, but also that you will be careful. I don't want to come back to this little shop and find you gone prematurely. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," she answered.

 _II_

It had taken a week for Sarah to work up enough nerve to call the king again. She waited until her father was going to be working late and decided that the apartment's living room would be the best place. First it was far too cold outside now to be having nocturnal meetings in the park. Second she would be in familiar surroundings. That gave her a semblance of control. She would make Monty proud.

She smoothed the couch cushions and tidied the small space. On a plastic serving tray she arranged two mugs: one with cream, another with some cheap wine she had found in the back of a cabinet. Both were for the king. In her pocket she tied a small cloth bag filled with sea salt. Also for the sake of the king. If all the lore proved correct the salt would prevent him from using magic on her and the two drink offerings should put him in a decent mood.

How does one get to know a fae king? She went with the simplest answer: invite him over and ask questions. She wasn't about ready to offer him coffee or invite him to dinner. But conversation was needed. She would need to control her tongue and try to be polite. It wouldn't do any good to get riled up and give him some angle to work. This time she would be more careful with her words. She stood between the kitchen and the living room and said, "Goblin King, I wish to speak with you."

For a moment there was nothing. Sarah was afraid he wouldn't come. He would do that just to rattle her. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to calm her frustration. "He will come," she muttered to herself. "He has to come. He has to answer your wishes."

When she opened her eyes again she was startled to see him sitting on her father's couch sipping the mug of cream. "A little honey added to this would be lovely," he said casually. He leaned back, sprawling his legs and arms completely at home.

Sarah watched fascinated at how much he resembled a giant cat, enjoying a warm spot and fresh cream. He wore browns and blacks which added to the feline appearance. "I don't have any," she said.

A cat could still be a creature of prey, Sarah reminded herself, just like a spider or an owl. She watched him bend a knee and place a black boot on the edge of the coffee table. His relaxed state was meant to get her to lower her guard. Sarah wasn't fooled. "Comfortable?" she asked.

He let out a satisfied hum as he sipped from the mug. "Such offerings are hardly left any more to my kind," he commented. "So what does Sarah Williams need to say?" He eyed her over the edge of the mug.

"You and I are a bit of an impasse," she said. "You won't free me from the contract,"

"No."

"And I have no intention of going with you. So, the way I see it is that we should both make the best of the situation and attempt to get to know one another. It might make this relationship more agreeable." She leaned against the partition separating the room from the kitchen.

"Relationship?" he repeated. "Are you and I in a relationship?"

"Potentially." It was a small concession, hopefully enough to make him more malleable. "You have intentions to whisk me away to the Underground. I'd like to know a little bit about the man I am supposedly to spend forever with." To her ears she had sounded direct yet polite. Firm yet friendly.

"And during that forever time we will get to know one another." He grinned.

"Look you," Sarah began letting her anger rise. She paused at the sight of his smile and took a deep breath. She couldn't loose her cool. She needed to find out some things about him. Why not start with his suggestive comments? Find out for certain what sort of relationship he expected of her. "So am I to understand that our relationship will be sexual?" she asked. The thought made her toes curl in disdain.

"Naturally. A pretty thing such as yourself should not be allowed to go to waste."

"Even if it's not consensual?" she asked.

That seemed to give him pause. He worked a drink of cream around in his mouth and moved to set the mug back on the tray. "That won't be an issue," he said looking at her directly.

His confidence was down right creepy, Sarah decided. "Right. I'm supposed to come willing," she said.

The king nodded.

"And is that all that will be expected of me?" she asked.

He shrugged as if to say he hadn't thought much about it. "Interesting," he commented when she failed to give him much of a reaction. He stood up from the couch. "You are strangely in control of your emotions tonight," he observed. "The prospect of a physical relationship with a man who is practically a stranger; being ripped away from your home, etcetera, etcetera. And you aren't even huffing." He moved around the coffee table. Sarah fought the urge to back away. "Too complacent for Sarah Williams."

"Don't mistake my silence for compliance," Sarah replied.

He raised an eye brow. "Never," he said. "But this level headedness is unbecoming."

"Sorry to disappoint," she replied flatly.

"You should be huffing and angry; on the verge of shouting at me. But you are fighting such impulses. Why?" He stood in front of her, arms crossed and brow furrowed.

"I genuinely want to get to know you," she replied.

"That might be true. It might not. But if I found myself in your situation I certainly wouldn't be wasting my time with pleasantries and getting-to-know-you nonsense. I'd be plotting a way to get back at the person responsible."

"You are responsible," she bit out.

A smirk. "No I'm not."

"Yes you are Goblin King."

"I'm not the one who chose you as payment. Remember?"

Sarah took a deep breath. "So you want me to rant and rave about the injustice of it all? To yell obscenities about my father's wife? No, his ex-wife. Not gonna happen. I'm stuck with you and you're stuck with me, even with an attitude you don't particularly enjoy." There had been way too much satisfaction in holding her own in his presence. She knew it showed in her eyes. Sarah braced herself for some sort of retaliation.

Instead the king unfolded his arms and and put them on his hips. "Oh very well then," he said resignedly. "You've committed yourself to this approach, might as well let you play it out. Ask your questions."

Sarah, keeping her face as stern as ever, went with the only question that came to mind, "What's your favorite color?"

The king's face twitched. A scoff and then a laugh escaped his mouth. Sarah drew her head back surprised at how genuine the emotion was. The dark, brooding man was replaced momentarily with merriment. It changed all of his features, making him younger and more approachable. Her gamble to disarm him had worked. She refused to sigh in relief just yet though.

"Green," he answered. "It's a shame I don't wear much of it. But I do admire it on certain figures. Shall I tell you that I also enjoy quiet walks on the beach and evenings reading by fire light?"

"I wouldn't believe you," she said.

"Suit yourself. The truth is that I do." He smiled. "As cliche as it might seem."

"So," she began searching for her next question.

"No, no, you asked your question," he interrupted. "My turn."

Sarah had not counted on him wanting to ask her questions. Attempting to understand the Goblin King seemed like a good idea. As Monty had suggested to know ones enemy would also involve finding out their weaknesses and knowing that could help her break the contract. But him asking her questions, getting to know her? That just seemed like giving him more power over her. And that wouldn't do.

Yet she also knew refusing him his inquiries could also prove dangerous. Her hand went into her pocket where she gripped the bag of salt. "Alright," she said tentatively.

"Why don't you use my name?" he asked.

"I," she paused. For not the first time Sarah cast her mind back to her time spent in the Labyrinth; in the presence of the king. "I don't know it," she admitted.

This seemed to entertain the king even more than her color question had. He began to chuckle. His mismatched eyes danced with merriment and he grinned more cat like than ever. "Well this has been fun," he said turning away and approaching the coffee table. "But I really must be going."

"Wait- what?" Sarah exclaimed. She watched as he picked up the second mug and took a sip of the wine. "I have more questions."

The king cringed and smacked his lips. "Next time invest in better wine."

"But my questions," Sarah insisted.

The king let go of the mug. As Sarah tensed waiting for the crash it merely floated down and landed safely on the serving tray. "They will have to keep," he said. "You're not my only business Sarah Williams."

"What's your name?" she asked in one last effort to get him to stay longer.

He adjusted some minute detail on his outfit and glanced at her still obviously amused. "Take the salt out of your pocket," he said. "And I will tell you."

She squeezed the bag tighter. Twice now he had done something to alter her: once with a peach where she found herself dancing; the second time with a flick of his eyes he had rendered her immobile. Was risking another altercation worth learning his name? Knowing his name, his real name, could lead to better research into who he was. Knowing his name could strip him of some of his perpetual mystery.

She slipped the pouch out of her pocket and held it out in front of her, making sure he could see it. She took a few steps forward and placed the bag next to the mug of cream. She straightened. "What's your name?" She said each word distinctly.

One moment he was on the other side of the coffee table, the next he was at her shoulder, speaking in her ear. "I am the Goblin King," he whispered. She spun to face him. He moved inhumanely fast to appear again at her other shoulder. "Child Snatcher." Again he moved swifter than she could face him. "Boogie Man," he whispered a third name.

He was at her every side, front and back. Sarah could have sworn she heard the flapping of wings and the scraping of claws. She flinched as he moved yet again. Then he was behind her, warm and intimately close, his arms spread out half bent as if he would embrace her. Sarah was very much afraid she had made the wrong decision. He exhaled close to her head, his breath wafting hairs that tickled her neck. Sarah ground her teeth to steady herself.

Then his hand was on her head. "It's Jareth." It was still a whisper, yet it was less a declaration as it was a confession. The hand on her head moved in a caress that should have sent her reeling in disgust. Instead she felt her body relax and her breathing even out. Just when she felt her body betray her, leaning back onto his person, he vanished.

She stumbled forward and whipped around. He was gone! Suddenly her legs were useless and she fell awkwardly to her knees, catching herself on the edge of the coffee table. Her hand examined the spot on her head where he had touched her: she rubbed trying to erase the feel of his touch. She took a deep breath. Hormones? Or magic? Her heart hammered in her chest.

Not a single button popped or article of clothing rumpled, she mused leaning against the table, and that was hotter than any of Tori's seedy stories.

During her time in the ballroom, under the enchantment of the peach, she had felt a similar reaction to him. Of course that peach had been magical and her reaction had been forced. Right? Sarah worried that her fear and disdain for the king, for Jareth, was also some twisted attraction. Slowly she got to her feet.

 _Author's Notes: whew! And prepare for an upcoming plot twist._

 _LovelyAmberLight: I am humbled that you would consider my work so well written._

 _Imaginemeruler: please let me know when that youtube channel is up! I gladly give permission for you to read aloud "Contracts."_


	8. Chapter 8

A quiet month crept by. Sarah did her best to remain positive, to attempt research on ways to break a contract with a fae, and to make her master proud with her work at the library. The latter provided her with a good deal of distraction which she welcomed. Mr. Proodle had explained to her that typically he worked for a week, two at the most, and then returned to the shop and other clients. Sarah politely pointed out that she didn't have any other clients and that she enjoyed the work. She wondered if her master understood that the book shop made her a little sad; that without Monty there to talk with, she felt the need to be away. Mr. Proodle had smiled placidly and told her to continue her work at the library for as long as she felt she needed to.

At home things were quite. Her father and her had patched things up enough that they were speaking more than two words to each other, and were even eating together again. Sarah had not realized how much she had missed being comfortable around her father. The familiarity was good to have back.

When Toby missed a weekend, her father told her that the little tyke had come down with a bad cold. She sent him a Transformer card to help cheer him up. The second weekend he missed, her father hadn't even come out of his room that Saturday morning. Sarah had left for work with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Toby had never missed two of the weekends with his father before.

If only there was something she could do to help not only herself, but her family situation as well. Yes, she needed to break her contract, but it would also be nice to know that her brother would be safe and cared for if and when she left. If they had some sort of wealthy benefactor who could help her father gain full custody of the boy. Briefly she even entertained the thought of requesting the protection of the king. But she shook her head and pushed the thought away.

She found herself shelving some more books for Ms. Primrose. She was using a step ladder to reach the highest shelf. Even on her tip toes she couldn't get the blasted book back. With a huff she braced a foot against a shelf and drew herself up on her tip toes. "Whoa!" she exclaimed as the step ladder wobbled under her. She was going to fall. The book slipped from her fingers and her wrist slammed hard against the shelf as she scrambled to regain her balance. The ladder continued to tip.

She cried out again and knew even as she went over that this was going to hurt.

"Got you!"

Sarah found herself tangled up in the arms of a man who was holding her against his chest. She looked into a set of blue eyes. One winked at her. He had an arm around her shoulders and another about her waist. "Thank you," she said breathlessly.

The man lowered her to her feet. Yet he still held her about the waist. "You slammed your wrist quite hard against the shelf. Do I have your permission to ascertain whether or not you had a break?"

Sarah realized she was staring at the man. He was gorgeous with close cropped dirty blond hair that he had smoothed back from his face. And his eyes. People called eyes like his "baby blues." The thought invoked old Hollywood glamour and smokey clubs.

She lifted her arm to allow him to feel her wrist. "Ow!" she bit out even as she moved. The man took her arm. There was a red welt where she had slammed it and it throbbed painfully. "I didn't realize I had hit it quite so hard," she said. She wiggled her fingers for him.

The man seemed satisfied. "I do believe it's just a nasty bump. But you should ice it at once. This way." His arm once more about her waist, he began leading her away from her books and the step ladder.

Sarah fell into step next to him as she intuitively began heading towards the employee break room. At first she thought he would simply leave her at the door, a polite stranger having performed a Good Samaritan task, but he held open the door and proceeded to follow her inside. Ms. Primrose was just within retrieving a water bottle from a counter space.

"Mr. Brown!" she exclaimed as they entered. "Sarah! Is everything alright?"

"I took a tumble," explained Sarah cradling her wrist close to her. "This gentleman here was making sure I got some ice for my wrist."

"Oh. No need to trouble yourself Mr. Brown," offered Ms. Primrose. "I'll help her."

Sarah noted the respect and sense of familiarity that the librarian spoke with. She looked questioningly up at the gentleman. "No, I insist on seeing my patient through to the end," said Mr. Brown with a friendly smile. "I do believe we have some ice packs in the freezer for just such an emergency," he then said.

Without further prompting Ms. Primrose was retrieving said ice pack as this Mr. Brown escorted Sarah to a chair at the break room's table. "Really I'm alright," she insisted more out of politeness than the desire to be left alone.

"A page isn't worth much if she can't shelve books," observed Mr. Brown.

"Lucky for you I'm not actually a page," said Sarah. The cold of the ice pack stung.

Ms. Primrose was at the table, a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Sarah is here courtesy of our book repair man, Mr. Proodle. She was lending an extra helping hand."

"How very gracious of you," said Mr. Brown and smiled.

Sarah found herself smiling back and blushing for no real apparent reason.

Ms. Primrose's face pinched. "Though I think your hands are going to need to rest for the remainder of the day," she said lifting the ice pack. "I don't like the way your wrist looks."

Sarah looked down: indeed her wrist was now swelling. Even doing simple repair work was out of the question. "I guess I'll head home for the day," she said.

"Ms. Primrose, the young lady's belongings if you please," said Mr. Brown and the librarian went to the small cubby storage place for employee personal items.

It again struck Sarah how obliging Ms. Primrose was to this gentleman. She had never seen the woman behave so before. If anything the roles were typically reversed: pages and even fellow librarians were eager to do her bidding and be of service. She looked at Mr. Brown as his eyes examined her wrist again. He wasn't just appealing to the eye because of nature's blessing, his over all appearance was one of meticulous care: a crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck and a well tailored sport's coat. As he extended his arm she caught sight of a watch with the brand name Rolex. Sarah concluded that he had to be a wealthy patron to the library.

Her purse was over her shoulder and Mr. Brown's hand was guiding her under the arm before she realized it. He was still smiling at her and in turn she was smiling at him. He admonished her to be more careful. "Anything else that I might assist you with?" he asked.

Sarah couldn't think of any real reason to further need him around and she certainly shouldn't be behaving like some star struck little girl. Her eyes batted. "No. I am quite alright," she said.

Behind him she saw her friend Tori approaching. Between the tumble from the step ladder and meeting the intriguing Mr. Brown she had completely forgotten about their lunch plans.

"Hey Sarah," greeted Tori as she approached. Tori was far less subtle in her evaluation of the opposite sex. Her eyes dropped over him in obvious appreciation."And Mister…?" she prompted.

"Elias Brown," he answered with a nod.

"Mr. Brown this is my good friend Tori Alexander," said Sarah. "She'll help me home."

Tori forced her eyes away from Mr. Brown and realized her friend was hurt. "Oh jeez, what happened?"

"I bumped my wrist," said Sarah.

"As she tumbled from a ladder," added Mr. Brown with an admonishing look. "Ms. Alexander do I have your solemn promise to safely see my new young acquaintance home?"

Tori nodded. "Absolutely."

Mr. Brown released Sarah's arm. "Until next time then," he said. "Ladies." And with a bow he turned to leave.

Both young women watched him go for far longer than was appropriate. "Hungry?" asked Tori distractedly.

Sarah felt her eyes glaze over. "You bet," she answered without much thought.

The two exchanged glances. "Do you think we'd be allowed to check him out?" Tori then speculated as they turned to leave. "You know just for a week or two."

Sarah choked on a laugh. Elias Brown, she thought his name. She found herself glancing back in his direction: he was at the help desk conversing with another librarian. For a moment she felt a small pang of guilt: what if Monty were to suddenly come by? Catching her ogling another man's backside would be unfair to him. Though, what claim did Monty actually have on her? He had left. No promises were made. No commitment. Shoot not even a goodbye kiss, she reminded herself.

Sarah considered her current relationships with the men in her life as her and Tori exited the building. There was Monty Jones: a man who she had grown comfortable with and who had stirred her hormones into a frenzy with his forwardness. She cared about him. That was an undeniable truth. And she had wanted him. Also an undeniable truth. But he was also gone and with no determined time to return Sarah couldn't very well wait and pine for him.

Then of course there was her father. But, he was just that: her father. She loved him and for the most part understood him. She wanted to see him happy, but with everything that had happened regarding Karen and the contract she wasn't sure he ever truly would be happy again.

There was also the king, Jareth. Sarah was rather loath to think about him in connection with her hormones, but he did generate strong emotions in her. Very strong. There were times she absolutely hated him or then others where she was confused, and still yet other times where she felt aroused in his presence. He was a dangerous, forbidden thing after all. There had been moments when lost in the memory of their dance she had found herself daydreaming about giving into his offer. These moments had been far too frequent since learning his name. But then her gut would twist in fear remembering the cruel contract he held on her, and she would push the fantasy away disgusted with herself for even entertaining the thought. Jareth was completely out of the question.

And now there was this Elias Brown. Sarah chided herself that to call their brief encounter a relationship was silly. They had literally just met. He had been confident and polite; commanding yet sincere. And flat out sexy, she admitted. He had literally caught her midair, as if she had weighed nothing.

As the two tucked into some gyros from a street vendor Sarah asked, "Tori, my dear, what is the difference between lust and love?"

"Staring at a man's butt is definitely lust," answered Tori without missing a beat.

Leave it to her best girl friend to be so blunt. "Granted," Sarah replied. "But in a more general, broader sense of the two words- thoughts?"

"Well if any of the Harlequin writers have it right the two are not mutually exclusive, but neither are they mutually inclusive. You love your dad, but that's where it stops."

"Well, yeah, there are definitely different types of love. That's a given. But between two consenting adults: how do you know if it's lust or love?"

They both ate in silence in for a moment.

Tori eyed her friend. "Sarah," she began slowly. "you'd tell me if… you know…you had done it? Wouldn't you?"

"You mean had sex?"

Tori nodded.

"Yeah. Of course I would. You're my best friend. Why do you ask?"

"Our current conversation," she said by way of explanation. "I was beginning to wonder if, I dunno, you and Monty had maybe…"

Sarah's eyes went wide. "No. No, we did not."

"So this is all theoretical? Well, alright then, seeing as neither one of us has had our V-Cards punched, I suppose in theory one might determine the difference between love and lust as to whether or not you want him to sleep over."

"Like, do I want to make him breakfast the next day? There has to be more to it than that."

"Well, wanting him to stay over suggests that you want to get to know him more and not just his opinions, but his habits: does he brush his teeth before he eats? Does he shower in the morning or the evening? Does he pick his nose?"

Sarah pulled a face and rolled her eyes. She would hope that she would spend enough time with a potential lover to know some of these things before going to bed with him. She figured that quality time spent together would reveal certain habits and with that knowledge she would then determine whether or not she would even want to have sex. If I had gone with first impressions, she thought, or minimal impressions I should never have been attracted to Monty. And she was fairly convinced that she would had slept with him had he expressed such a desire.

Of course she also had an instant reaction to Elias Brown. She had been reduced to a bundle of hormones the moment she had locked eyes with him. What, given different circumstances, would she had done with him? She shook her head.

Of course all things considered neither man was currently helping out her predicament.

In the end Robert prevailed upon his daughter to go to the emergency room and have her wrist x-rayed. It was indeed a sprain and she was fitted with a brace. Mr. Proodle sequestered her to simple paper work duty until further notice from a medical professional. She was to spend the next two weeks tucked in at the shop's desk filling out ledgers and billing information.

Sarah decided to also use some of this time to read up on the fae. She knew the basics: cold iron being deadly, offerings left to appease them (much like what Monty had told her and the ones she had left for Jareth), and to avoid fairy rings. She had read Rumpelstiltskin. The Ice Queen. The Little Mermaid. One theme struck her at once: fae like to make deals. Contracts in varying forms were quite common among them. Sarah wondered if in their immortal existence they simply got bored and were all too happy to make odd arrangements. It spiced things up.

"I don't want to be their spice," she muttered to herself. "Thank you very much."

Mr. Proodle's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Well the time for the annual Inklings Ball is upon us," he announced coming in from the back room.

"Already? Did you receive your invite?" she asked.

The Inklings Ball was a truly lavish affair to celebrate the literary arts. So named in honor of author J. R. R. Tolkein who had founded an informal literary discussion group with the same name, the ball raised money for the library and allowed for reclusive bookworms to socialize. Mr. Proodle had been attending for some ten years. Sarah had twice witnessed him leaving the shop dressed in a well pressed tux and top hat.

"It's the save-the-date card for March. Oh, apparently you are expected as well." He produced a second note card addressed to her.

Sarah took it. "Wow. Mr. Proodle, you didn't have to procure me an invite."

He smiled. "While I considered asking you to be my plus one this year, this invite comes on your own merit it would seem."

Even with a save-the-date and the promise of an actual invitation Sarah was not confident she would be able to attend. The cost of attendance was a charitable act and the starting dollar amount was a hundred dollars. If Mr. Proodle wasn't responsible for her name being added to the list of hopeful attendees perhaps Ms. Primrose was. A very kind gesture, Sarah thought tucking the card into her back pocket.

She noticed her master lingering near. He hummed. "Have you read any Christina Rossetti before?" he asked surveying the books she kept near her.

"Bits and pieces, I think. She wrote something about a fantastical market, right?"

"Goblin Market, is the title. Rather controversial and considered explicit, but might prove beneficial to your current study."

"Explicit like how Barrie has fairies coming back from orgies in Peter Pan?" asked Sarah for clarification.

Mr. Proodle's mustache twitched under his nose. "More so," he finally said. "While an orgy could be interrupted as a drunken revelry with a good time had in James Barrie's world, Rossetti suggests that certain fae delicacies can make us do things that would go against our very nature. You are young Sarah, but you have an old soul and a mature mind. I have a copy of it."

From one of his full book shelves he pulled forth a leather bond book and having set it on the desk, he read the title out loud, "Goblin Market and Other Poems. Should you chose to read it, I should like your thoughts." With another smile and twitch is his mustache he walked to the back room.

Sarah eyed the book suspiciously before sliding it to her. The full title also included the phrase "Illustrated by Arthur Rackham". Opening the book to the title page she was met with a lush illustration of a young blonde haired woman in little more than chemise being accosted by little men. Sarah peered closer. In their tiny hands the men held baskets or arm loads of fruit. The longer she studied the picture the more she came to realize that the little men were dirty and wizened, and were not merely accosting the poor girl, but molesting her with their fruit. The caption below read, "…Come buy our orchard fruits, Come buy, come buy….". The young girl's face was a mask of fear, her eyes cast to the side at one particular temptation being forced near her mouth: a peach.

Sarah slammed the book shut and found herself pushing her chair back from the desk. Her heart was hammering in her chest and black dots momentarily clouded her vision. Too coincidental that a poem suggested to her by her master should contain goblins and peaches. A peach! Sarah's fingers touched her lips and felt both appendages and mouth alike tremble.

A thought occurred to her that she had never before entertained. A man as bold, determined, and possessive as Jareth the Goblin King would surely not leave his payment alone without a measure of security. She had always wondered why Mr. Proodle had taken her on as his apprentice. Other than her own stubbornness and drive she had nothing of value to offer him. Her work kept her confined to a small space and in the same town, watched over by a man she referred to as her master.

She heard Mr. Proodle's step coming into the main room once more. "I heard a bang. Whatever is it?" he asked. He saw her pushed away from the desk. "Is Rossetti so upsetting?"

"Why did you suggest this poem?" she asked.

"You seemed most interested in matters concerning the fae. This poem is quite famous," he said.

"Peaches. Orchard fruit," she said and then despairingly, "Mr. Proodle, no. Tell me it's not true."

Her master took a step closer, but stopped when she flinched. "Sarah, I am not sure what is upsetting you. I don't understand. It's just a poem, written by a Victorian woman. I apologize if something in the stanzas caused you pain."

His tone was soothing. His eyes were concerned. Sarah swallowed again wondering if she was over reacting. She hadn't actually read the poem.

Slow as if skirting a skittish animal, Mr. Proodle moved near the desk and opened the book once more. He turned a few pages, then read aloud, " 'We must not look at goblin men, we must not buy their fruits: who knows upon what soil they fed their hungry thirsty roots?'" He sighed. "If you want to talk about it, why the fruit upsets you so, I will gladly listen."

As her heart slowed, Sarah second guessed her knee-jerk reaction. "I," she paused. "I had a bad experience once with peaches." It was a lame attempt at explaining her actions. She knew her master well enough to know that even with an unsatisfactory explanation he would not press the issue. "I should read some more."

"Very well. Should you need me," he offered as he stepped away.

"I'll call," she answered.

She listened to his foot steps recede. The seed of suspicion had been planted though: could she trust her master? The man she had thought of as an uncle and friend? Worse was the thought that there might be others, spies to watch over her. Elias Brown. The name stuck out like a pricked thumb. If Jareth knew she had become close with a man, had formed a bond with Monty Jones, would he send in another to mess things up? That would explain his impossible good looks and charm. A pretty temptation to lure her away from the safety of a human relationship and further into the entanglement with the fae.

If Sarah didn't know better, if her father didn't collaborate everything she had been through, she would have thought herself going mad. But insane people don't question whether or not they are actually being paranoid, right? She thought.

 _Author's Notes: if you haven't read Rosseti or Barrie, then by golly get yourself to the library! Or at the very least an ebook. Though I must admit I am with Sarah when it comes to the printed word: lovely. I am actually one of those people who one would find sniffing an old book. Rather like a spice to me. Imagine a candle scented "Old Books and Cinnamon"- I think it would burn twentyfour hours a day in my house._

 _Quick side not regarding Jareth's eyes. Ahem. I am fully aware of the reason David Bowie's eyes were the way they were. A childhood altercation involving George Underwood and a girl they both liked if memory serves me right. Poor David was socked in the eye resulting in apparent discoloration. However I am dealing with Jareth and if I want his pupils to be two toned naturally (or faely...) then by jove I am. Truth be told it is one of things that made Jareth/Bowie so irresistible. I fell in love with that man at the tender age of...well...let's just say I've been a fan for well over twenty years. Here I am writing fanfiction all this time later. Keep chasing your dreams kids. Especially the silly ones._


	9. Chapter 9

_I_

Jareth steepled his fingers and rested them against his chin. The simple illustration had nearly caused her to snap. Nearly. The bite of peach from her time in the Labyrinth had been germinating for a long time in the pit of the young woman's stomach. A traumatic event should have triggered its powers, causing Sarah to snap awake to the awareness of the fae. This would allow her to see through glamour, sense spells, and crave more of his ilk's food. With the way she behaved around him he had speculated that being reminded of their intimate dance would have set things in motion.

It hadn't.

This told him a few key things. First and foremost she was not aware of any glamour being used around her. That went well so far as his plans were concerned. The second thing it told him, which caused him to smile behind his fingers, was that she did not consider their dance together to be a traumatic event. That pleased him. For he too thought fondly on that time spent with her. Most of his current situation could be blamed on that ridiculous ball room. Rather foiled by your own hand, he mused to himself. He shifted uneasily where he stood. Though not traumatic he figured they would both consider that moment rather significant at the least. Both would be hard pressed to ignore certain attractions that had occurred during the dance.

It had been quite the gamble allowing her to see that illustration and the accompanying poem. If she had snapped, come into awareness, then ensuring her return to him by her eighteenth birthday would have been very complicated. Even with the craving for the fruit forcing her to return to the land of the fae, she would not have come willingly and he wanted, no needed her, to come willingly.

Yet he had wanted to know. A part of him had become obsessed with those precious moments he had danced with her. To what end these fancies would take him he was not certain. He wanted the mortal woman, but some how she always managed to stay his hand.

His attention was suddenly drawn to the book shop. Sarah had not come yet come in nor had she called her master.

 _II_

Sarah sat at a table at the end of one of the longest rows of books in the furthest corner of the library. Books upon books were surrounding her, a massive fortress of solitude where she could study and read without fear. Mr. Proodle didn't know she was here as she hadn't been into the shop today. Upon her arrival she had not notified Ms. Primrose and had some how managed to avoid most of the other librarians. Her own father wasn't even sure where she was.

From her bag she took out the copy of Goblin Market and Other Poems, as well as her red leather bond copy of The Labyrinth. These she put next to a notebook. She had read the poem, had nearly had a panic attack while doing so, and was now determined to make a comparative list of her own experiences verses those discussed in these books.

"What do I know?" she murmured to herself. "Or rather, what do I remember?"

The Labyrinth book had been in a box of books Karen had bought at a rummage sale. She had given them all to Sarah, or rather had threatened to thrown them all out if Sarah didn't go through them. Sarah had become obsessed with the red book. Red like an apple, she thought with a shiver, more orchard fruit.

On that fateful night her father had told her that the scheme had been to get her to use the words on herself. In this modern age of electronics and video games it had to be hard to keep the old magic alive and Sarah had been meticulously and cruelly groomed to read and believe in the power of the printed word. Those words. "I wish the goblins would come and take you away right now!" They had been the words in the book. Instead she had used them on Toby and that had brought Jareth the Goblin King to her house.

Her pen tapped the paper. Rossetti's poem suggested that the maidens heard the goblin cry on a regular basis. That they tempted the young girls repeatedly. Sarah was certain she had never seen the king before that night. Tap, tap went her pen. He had also been an owl. Sarah recalled the owl in the park. She jotted down the information on her paper.

Since she had used the words on her brother, who had not been the one marked for payment, another set of rules had come into play. She was allowed the opportunity to win him back. "You have thirteen hours in which to solve the Labyrinth before your baby brother becomes one of us forever." The Labyrinth had been one massive game. A game that the king knew all the rules to. A game that he could only play when someone wanted to retract their wish.

"I won the game," Sarah whispered to herself. "If fae like to make deals or contracts, was he contractually bond to offer all wishers this opportunity?" The thought that the king had been performing a duty or a job had never occurred to her before. So he had been compelled to return her home though the second contract with Karen also compelled him to keep her. What a conundrum!

Tap, tap, tap, went her pencil.

Had she won? Really? She had made it to the castle, had run about the room of stairs, but she had never physically held her brother. No, she had jumped for him. Jumped. And had kept right on falling. Was that selfless act what had made her win the game? Then why had he gone to all the trouble there at the end, asking her all of those strange questions? Either he was used to mortal girls swooning for him or there had been something else in the background happening. Or you're just weirdly tenacious, she mused.

Now about the fruit, she thought flipping a page in Rossetti's book, there was something rather odd about the sister's reaction. She became absorbed in listing each fruit the goblins had proffered.

"Dear, you should not stay so late, twilight is not good for maidens; should not loiter in the glen in the haunts of goblin men."

She knew that voice and her initial reaction was to turn with a wide grin. "Monty!" she exclaimed. "You're back!"

"Hello Sarah," he replied also grinning.

She was up and hugging him. She had never done that before, had never known what it was like to press herself to him and feel his arms around her. He wore a faint cologne that she inhaled deeply before releasing him. A weight she had not noticed before lessened from around her shoulders. He came around her chair and sat next to her.

"How'd you know I'd be here?" she asked.

"You weren't at the shop. I figured this was the next best place to look," he explained.

It was a good explanation, Sarah had to concede. Though it also meant that he would have been searching for quite a while in order to find her among all the rows of books. Monty. She took him in with his leather coat and sweater that was always a pinch too big. It had been a long month without him.

He too couldn't seem to take his eyes off of her. "Studying a bit of Christina Rossetti, are we?" he asked.

"Yes. I see you know her work," she said referring to the words he had quoted as his greeting.

He nodded. "And how goes your business arrangement?" he asked after a bit.

Sarah cast her eyes over the books and paper on the table. "Still stuck," she admitted. "Short of death, I haven't found any way of getting out of it."

"Well I have some information that might give some insight," he said.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I was sorting some books and came across some text that made me think of you." He reached into his coat pocket and with drew several folded sheets of paper. "I photocopied most of it." Having unfolded it, he spread it out on the table.

Sarah leaned forward. The grey and black photocopy was of symbols she didn't recognize: it was an odd mixture of lines and slashes. "What language is this?" she asked.

"It's a variant of Ogham, a primitive form of Old Irish and some times Old Welsh. A very old language. Most inscriptions are on stone monuments, occasionally on some wooden artifacts. I digress though," he said with a bit of a chuckle. Sarah understood the brief lapse into the excitement over the archaic book. He continued, "This was an account about a village that paid homage to a particular god who believed in," he paused lifting the paper. "Rough translation, 'The Great Imbalance.' The writer tells us that while their community was blessed and prosperous, it was never easy. Their god made them work for their life style."

"Okay," nodded Sarah.

Monty read some more. "Sorry it doesn't always translate directly. Here, it talks about how their children were affected. This is the part that made me think of you: 'one season there was an even number of births among the male and female children. As fathers and mothers we rejoiced to know that there would be enough to…. give and receive in marriage. Yet our god would not have even our continued existence be one of ease. Mothers quickly realized an increase in straw babies,'"

"Straw babies. Wait- you mean changelings?"

Monty nodded. "And it says, 'we lost several of our daughters to the people of the hills. Our sons would have to'," he paused re-reading the section. "'strive for a mate.'"

"So… are you suggesting that the king practices this religion, this Great Imbalance?"

"You told me that the contract was a male child for a female child. This." He took a handful of papers. "Could explain why."

"The thought just recently occurred to me that he, the king, could very well just be doing his job. So let me see if I'm understanding this correctly: in order that man kind will not become complacent there are fae, or gods, that will purposefully tamper with nature? It might help me understand him, but it certainly doesn't help me break the contract." She blew air sharply out her nose. "And it certainly doesn't make me want to go with him," she stated hotly.

To her surprise Monty said, "I don't know Sarah- the land of the fae (the people of the hill that's referred to) is supposed to be like paradise. A heaven. To see that." He almost seemed wishful.

"Monty!" she said by way of chastisement.

"How bad could it really be?" he asked.

Sarah scoffed. "Aside from the fact that I am being forced to go some where against my will, there's also the fact that I will never be allowed to come back. To come home." She took a shaky breath. Then in quieter tones, "You don't hear the way he speaks. You don't know the things he says to me."

Monty leaned an elbow on the table. For a moment he worried a finger nail. "So what does he say to you?" he finally asked.

Sarah ducked her head. "He claims me as his."

"You are his payment," he pointed out.

"No. I mean." She rolled her eyes. Telling Monty Jones, the compulsively amorous, that the king intended to bed her and much more that she would allow him to willingly, was decidedly uncomfortable. She tried again, "He expects me to willingly…"

"Do the washing and cleaning up?" He held his hands apologetically after she shot him a scathing glance. "Sorry, I was just trying to lighten the mood. I understand what you're saying. Cocky little bugger," he then observed.

Sarah sighed.

Monty's brow creased. "You haven't done anything that would encourage him to say such things have you? It's just that, while most of the accounts of fae men taking a mortal girl emphasize the girl's beauty as the thing that draws them together, it is typically more of a snatch and run scenario. Spots beautiful maiden, entranced by her beauty, and whisks her away." Monty snapped his fingers for emphasis. "Nice and quick. He's given you an extra two years."

"You know it's rather insulting for you to suggest that I would encourage his behavior," snapped Sarah. She felt the sharp sting of tears in her eyes.

His face relaxed. "Hey," he said softy. He reached a hand out to touch her arm. "I'm not suggesting that. Not at all. It's just," he paused. Sarah felt his fingers flex as he searched for the right words. "I don't like what you're telling me. And I'm grasping at anything that might help or explain what we're facing. Can you think of anything you might have done, even unintentionally, that would explain his forwardness?"

She shrugged and wiped at her eyes. "I can't."

He nodded. "Okay." He let go of her arm and straightened in his chair. "Let's, go grab some coffee. I need to clear my thoughts."

She sniffed. "Sounds good."

She began gathering her few books and closing her notebook. Monty collected the photocopied papers, stacked them neatly and handed them to her. Sarah slid them into her bag and turned to go. Monty reached for her hand, moving his fingers in between hers. Sarah smiled wistful. Then she broke their hands and hugged him, pressing her face into his chest, holding on. Monty. It wasn't fair that so just and generous a man should come into her life at this juncture. She'd take him with all of his teasing and the massive age gap; the aggravating way he'd switch topics or shrug for an answer. She squeezed her arms tighter. She couldn't help herself. Sarah wanted to fix him breakfast, she decided, and he could brush his teeth whenever he chose to so long as she saw him do it. She nearly laughed despite the over whelming melancholy.

Monty's arms came around her in a slow embrace that grew firmer with each passing second. He felt strong and dependable. Sarah rubbed her cheek against his sweater as she could burrow deeper against him. "I'm here," he told her.

"I'm scared," she told him.

Monty ran a hand along her head and down through her hair in a gentle caress. He repeated the motion. "It's going to be alright," he told her. "Trust me."

"How can you be so sure?" she pressed.

Monty didn't answer. Sarah was certain she felt his shoulders hunch the tiniest bit in a shrug. For the first time she understood his policy on honesty. This was one of those moments when the truth was better left unsaid.

Back on the main level, they walked hand in hand. It felt natural and amazing at the same time. Sarah imagined that each glance from a passerby was a validation of their clasped hands, as if the world was saying, yes, you can do this; you can break this contract and be in a real relationship.

Ms. Primrose spotted her near the exit. "Sarah! Sarah! So glad I caught you," she said approaching them. "How's your wrist doing?"

"The brace is off. I should be able to return to repair work next week," said Sarah.

"Excellent." She handed her an envelope. "I was told to give this to you. It's from Mr. Brown."

"Oh." She took the envelope. She saw Monty's inquisitive glance. "Ms. Primrose, who exactly is Mr. Brown? I should like to be able to thank him for helping me the day I tumbled."

"Well, he is one of the library's top donors. Very generous. I think the proper term for him would be a gentleman in the most archaic sense of the word."

"A man of wealth and leisure," chimed in Monty.

"Exactly," said Ms. Primrose. "And his leisure happens to be supporting the arts. He is responsible for the funding of the show accompany the Inklings Ball. I must get back to work now. Have a great day. Look forward to seeing you again." And she walked away.

As they descended the steps outside, Monty, said, "You owe a debt to a gentleman- what trouble did you get yourself up to while I was away?"

"I fell off a step ladder," she explained. "Mr. Brown, well, he caught me. I only hurt my wrist because he happened to be near."

Monty hummed. "And the reason for this note in your pocket?"

"I have no idea," she said honestly.

She waited to see if he would have any more of a reaction, anything remotely resembling jealousy. Part of her wanted to see the emotion, maybe to even hear him demand to see what was in the envelope. Instead Monty suggested a place for their coffee and the envelope was forgotten.

That evening in her room, Sarah kicked off her shoes, pealed off her sweater and collapsed back onto her bed. Monty was back. This thought ran happily through her head. They had spent the remainder of the afternoon sipping coffee and walking through the park, exchanging life stories. Sarah had told him about the times she used to play act in her old neighborhood park. Monty recounted a brief time when he had considered the stage. In the end both of them had decided that being the center of attention was too much pressure, and they both just wanted to work in the background of life.

They had held hands for the duration of the day as well. Sarah rubbed her palms together. It had been thoroughly normal and exciting. She stretched and heard the crinkling of paper. The envelope had been riding in the back pocket her jeans, forgotten. She pulled it out. Her name, first and last, were written in neat upper case letters. Inside was a piece of stationary with the initials EB across the top with a strike mark through them. Sarah thought that odd at first. Then she recalled an old costume where a person of importance would strike out their initials like so as a way to show that it was a personal message and not composed by a secretary. Occasionally such notes were tucked into old books, forgotten by their previous owners.

Alright, Elias Brown, what have you to say for yourself? She thought.

"My dearest Ms. Williams," ran the note. "I hope this note finds you well and your wrist quite recovered. On the twentieth of March the annual Inklings Ball will take place. It is a grand affair and black tie is required. Due take note of this stipulation as you purchase an outfit. I have secured your ticket and will have a car at Mr. Proodle's shop to pick you up precisely at seven o'clock. This early arrival with allow us to attend the private dinner beforehand for a few select patrons and then we shall make our appearance at the ball.

"I do not leave much of anything to chance in my life Ms. Williams. Short of illness or death, I shall expect you to be ready at the appropriate date and time.

"Yours faithfully, Elias Brown."

Sarah reread the note some five times in disbelief. Of all the cockamamie stunts to pull! He didn't even bother asking her if she wanted to attend. Just a brief note demanding she be ready when he says to. She had half a mind to crumble it up and throw it in the waste bin at once. She couldn't handle such heavy handedness from yet another man.

Besides, she had been rather hoping that Monty might take her. Of course it was an assumption on her part that he would be invited or that he would even have the funds to attend. But she hoped nonetheless.

She re-read the note again. She had her suspicions about Elias Brown, the possibility that he could be some sort of informant for the king. It might goad him to flat out refuse him- there was a large amount of satisfaction to be had in such defiance. Of course calling him out, letting him know that she knew he was watching her that would also be satisfying. To do so in public too. She could dress up, look incredible, and then call his bluff. It was better than waiting for the end. And far better than doing nothing.

 _III_

Mr. Proodle sat his front desk, hands folded before him, pensive. Sarah had not come into work nor had she called. Such courtesies had been common place between them. It worried him that she suddenly would break the habit. The last time he had seen her she had behaved so oddly. Rossetti's poem had upset her. But surely that alone wasn't the cause of her absence. Of course then there had been her sprained wrist, and the circumstances surrounding her fall. She had smelled different.

Mr. Proodle had decidedly not liked it.

The above bell jingled as the shop's front door opened. He looked up expectantly at his guest. "Thank you for coming," he said. "I am most uneasy about Sarah. Our arrangement has allowed me to be close to her and to keep an eye on her. Something, I fear, is amiss. I smell a foreign magic upon her."


	10. Chapter 10

_I_

Sarah had Monty meet her at the shop late Monday morning. She wanted to run one of her theories by him: whether or not her boss could possibly be a fae spy. They stood outside away from the glass front door. "I do have work to do," said Monty rubbing his hands together.

There had been a light dusting of snow the night before. Even with gloves on Sarah's fingers were tingling in the cold and she put them in her coat pockets, though she would rather have held Monty's hand again. He had stepped out of the shop in only his sweater to keep him warm. "This won't take long. I'm going back up to the library today," she said when he asked if they could talk inside. "That and I'm kind of avoiding Mr. Proodle at the moment."

Monty raised an eye brow. "I was always under the impression that you two were quite close."

It felt wrong to think that Mr. Proodle could be something more than what he appeared to be. The hours she had spent in his company, comfortable and safe, learning from him, and taking his advice to heart. But Sarah couldn't shake the suspicion. "We are. But current circumstances over rule any current or past feelings," she said. "My time keeps growing shorter. It's time I consider some possible hard truths."

"Alright," said Monty. "Such as?"

"It has almost been two and a half years since my father left his wife and was allowed to keep me. I am a marked woman; a payment to a super natural king. Any responsible monarch wouldn't just let his wealth wander about without an honor guard or some sort of insurance on it."

"Sounds reasonable."

She eyed the book shop pointedly.

Monty pointed a finger back at the shop door. "You think that, Proodle is working for the king?"

"I've only known him for two years. He easily keeps on eye on me, he keeps me close to home."

"Sarah, I've known Alistair Proodle for years. He's just as eccentric and dedicated to his craft now as he ever was."

"But he never took on an apprentice before me. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

"No. It doesn't. What would be odd is for a fae or some other mythical creature to want to live among humans for an extended time. Sarah I'm talking about years, ten plus that I've known him."

How could she get him to understand? She could tell him that Mr. Proodle was the one who had suggested Rossetti to her, had led her to viewing the illustration of the young woman and the peach, but then she would also have to explain the significance of that piece of fruit. She realized Monty was watching her expression.

"Sarah you know you can tell me anything, right?" he asked.

She scoffed. "I've told you that some magical king owns a contract on my life and that I suspect my boss might be a faun working for said king like some twisted Narnia drama. Yes, I know I can tell you just about anything."

"Even things that might make us both uncomfortable," he added. "Is there some finer detail you're leaving out?" he pressed gently.

Some distant clock tower tolled the hour. "It's already ten o'clock," she said stepping back from him. "I need to get over to the library. Maybe you're right about Mr. Proodle, and you're also right about there being some finer details that I should probably tell you. Just not right now."

"Sarah, I would trust Alistair Proodle with my life," said Monty. "As well as yours."

"So you're thinking weird coincidence then?"

Monty blew air out his nose. "I think," he began carefully. "that you are under a good deal of stress and are behaving accordingly. I wonder what your father would say if I asked you to come away with me." He grinned. "Just for a weekend."

Sarah felt too warm under her coat. For a man who hadn't even kissed her yet, this was certainly a forward invitation. A trait she had come to enjoy about him. "I think you're a shameless flirt and that I should be getting to the library," she said. She mumbled something about seeing him later and turned to leave.

"You wouldn't have me any other way," he called after her.

Sarah shook her head and laughed to herself.

 _II_

"Finally putting your assets to good use," observed Tori as Sarah came out of the fitting room.

The two young women were at a local department store trying on varying dresses for the Inklings Ball. Sarah had informed Tori that she was attending and that it would be the mysterious Mr. Elias Brown accompanying her. Sarah had never seen her best friend's eyes bulge so wide before.

"I have to admit Sarah," said Tori as her friend observed herself in the mirror. "As excited as I am that you're living a bit of the fairy tale dream right now, I would feel better knowing that you weren't going to be alone with this Elias Brown."

The little black dress was simple and flattering. The front was cut in a low sweet heart. "I'm going to be in a room full of people," she said to Tori's reflection. Besides, she thought to herself, the king can't touch me until I'm eighteen. For added protection she planned on securing a bag of salt some where on her body. Plus she had been reading up on the use of vervain as protection against the fae as well.

"Yeah, I know," said Tori. "But he's also sending a car for you. I know I talk and read a lot about sex, but that doesn't mean I find it cheap. I just want you to be careful, okay?"

"I get it," she said to appease her friend. "And I appreciate your concern. You are the best girl friend I could have ever hoped for."

Sarah turned away from the mirror and went back into the fitting room. There was a panic rising: her chest was tightening and she couldn't seem to draw a deep breath. Tori. Her best friend. All the times they had gone shopping together; the books they had discussed; the movies they had watched late at night together; and all the bike rides- all of them were coming to an end.

The smaller mirror in the fitting room showed her a woman who was too young, too ordinary, too powerless to fight this. In a sudden hot rage she slammed a fist against her reflection.

"Hey girl, you okay?" came Tori's voice.

She stared back at her own green eyes. You ran a freakin' Labyrinth, she told herself. There were goblins, fairies that bit, and crazy red creatures that tried to rip your head off. There had been a bog that smelt like a backed up sewer, and a magical king who threatened to keep you and your brother. You get yourself together and you fight back, she ordered herself.

She straightened her back. "I'm fine," she called back, and took another good look at herself in the black dress. It accentuated her waist. Complimented her pale skin. And yes, her boobs did look amazing. "I'm going to get this one," she said wiggling out of it. "I've got some black pumps that will go great with it. I'm going to need some new hosiery though."

Sarah paid for the dress cringing a bit at the price, but confident that it would be worth it. She threw the garment bag over her shoulder, told Tori she'd see her for their next bike ride, and headed home. Clouds were thick and low- it was probably going to snow again. Bike riding was going to be quite difficult actually. At least the weather promised several fun activities to have with Toby. If this cold front held they could make snowman and snow angles together this weekend.

She stopped at the communal mail boxes and opened her father's metal box. There was the usual junk fliers plus a large manilla envelope.

Provided her brother came to stay with them this next weekend. Twice now he had missed and her father hadn't said much about it. She knew he was upset, but he refused to talk about it. She hoped Karen wasn't doing something to hinder him from coming over.

Inside the apartment she went to her room and hung up her dress trying hard not to smash it or wrinkle it. The ball was still a month off. Then she hung up her warm things near the front door. It was only four o'clock. Her father wouldn't be home for dinner for at least another two hours. Sarah decided she needed a snack and went to the kitchen. A knock on the front door though moved her back into the living room. It was one of their neighbors. "Oh hello," said Sarah. "How are you Mrs. Nesbit?"

Mrs. Nesbit was an elderly woman who was very fond of Hawaiian print shirts. "Hi there my dear. This," she paused and hefted a large basket filled with fruit. "was delivered to your door early this afternoon, but since no one was home I took it for the delivery man."

Sarah took the basket in surprise and confusion. It wasn't the holiday season any more. Who would be sending them a basket of fruit? "Thank you," she said. Her eyes scanned the contents: apples, lemons, oranges, and peaches. Numbly she nodded at her neighbor and shut the door. All orchard fruit that were mentioned in the opening stanzas of Christina Rossetti's poem.

Sarah was uncertain whether she wanted to throw up or toss the basket out the window. She swallowed and took a deep breath. There was a note affixed to the cellophane wrapping. She sat down at the table cradling the basket in her lap as read the note:

"Sarah, the orchard fruit has come between us. It is upsetting that such simple foods would disrupt our relationship and cause you such discomfort. Quite frankly I miss you around the shop. These fruits from me to you are an offering of friendship and peace. Please call or drop in soon. Your faithful friend, Alistair Proodle."

Sarah sat the basket on the table. This wasn't right. She shouldn't be suspicious of her mentor, master, and friend. Not after all he had done for her. Yes, her work with him kept her close to home and yes, it meant always having someone watching over her, but it also meant so much more. She had learned a craft that made her a unique commodity. She had been exposed to beautiful works of art that filled her soul with wonder. She had read passages that had broadened her horizons and made known to her information that she would otherwise have remained ignorant of. Like Rossetti's 'Goblin Market', she thought.

But how do I make this right without sounding like a lunatic? She thought.

Her eyes caught sight of the manilla envelope under the rim of the basket. The return address was for a lawyer's office. There hadn't been any correspondence with a lawyer since her father's divorce from Karen had been finalized. Odd that now there should be a document showing up.

Odd. You're whole life is odd Sarah, she thought. You really shouldn't expect anything less than odd.

Her eyes went back to the basket with all of its fruit. She had told Monty the truth and she had only known him about two months. Mr. Proodle she had known for almost two years and he had never betrayed her confidence or done any harm to her. Other than her own suspicions, she had no evidence. Even Monty had told her to continue to trust the man. She could either keep holding this in and let it harm one of the best friendships she could ever hope for, or she could tell him and deal with the repercussions. There was a possibility he would understand.

And what if he was an informant for the king- what had he hoped to gain by showing her the poem? She already had her memories back. She was well aware of her contract.

Sarah set her teeth, grabbed the basket, fumbled with her coat, and rushed out the door. She secured the basket to her bike.

It was a slippery ride, but she was rewarded with the interior light still on and her master sitting at the front desk. He rose to his feet at the sight of her rushing in. "Sarah, my dear," he said his eyes taking her in. "I see you received my basket."

Said basket was dropped on the desk. "You want to know why reading about goblin fruit upset me?" she asked directly. "Because I've had one."

She began to struggle with the tie on the cellophane. Calmly Mr. Proodle offered her a pair of scissors. "You've tasted goblin fruit?" he asked for clarification.

With a vicious rip she managed to mangle an opening. "Several years back I had a bite of fae peach and I experienced the must lucid, sensual, tempting hallucination." She paused as she felt her pulse quicken and her breathing grow shallow. The little shop was bathed in a glimmering light and the scent of sandalwood grew pungent. Focus, she told her self blinking it all away. She reached into the basket. "A fae king tricked me into eating a bite of one of his peaches and I nearly lost something I loved dearly."

Mr. Proodle hooked a thumb into one of the little pockets on his waist coat. "I see now," he said with a nod. "How are you still here then? You should be mad with desire for more."

She took out one of the peaches. "I can't answer that because I don't know," she replied. The peach was firm with just the hint of give: it was perfectly ripe.

For a few quiet moments Mr. Proodle considered the top of his desk. Sarah felt her pulse slow again and she breathed deeper, relaxing. Her master reached into the basket and took out one of the apples. "Thank you for explaining," he finally said. "I apologize for causing you any discomfort. Are you sure it was a peach?"

"Absolutely."

"Well." He hefted the fruit in his own hand. "I assure you this is not goblin fruit. What did you see when you took the bite? Forgive me," he hastened to add. "It's just such a fantastical thing to happen. I've never been able to ask anyone what they saw."

Sarah's eyes went far away. "I was at a dance. Everything from the women's dresses to the decorations was lush. It was decadent and so powerfully alluring. And when I danced with him…" her voice trailed. She caught Mr. Proodle's eyes.

"It was like nothing else matter." He nodded. "Or so the stories say."

"There are times when I think it was more than a trick, more than a ploy. But… there is more to this story and I am not ready to share all of that with you. Just yet."

"Would it be safe to assume you have shared a fair amount with Monty?" he asked.

Sarah nodded.

"It is good," her master said with a smile. "I hope that in the end Rossetti's poem shed some light on your situation."

"It has. Funny I rushed down here and brought the basket with me ready to assume the worst; that you had done something on purpose," she laughed nervously. "But you have been nothing but supportive of me. I am grateful for you, Alistair. Forgive me my paranoid fancies?"

"Done. Provided you forgive an old man's carelessness."

She smiled. "Done." She picked up the basket and said she needed to get back home. Her father was going to be there soon and he would worry.

"Oh Sarah," said Mr. Proodle before she exited. "I heard rumor among the bibliophiles that you are indeed attending the Inklings Ball." When she bit her lip and her cheeks deepened in color, he said, "You're not attending with Monty, are you?"

She shook her head. "Actually Mr. Brown, you know the gentleman who caught me, he sort of asked me."

Mr. Proodle nodded and wished her a good evening.

Sarah left the shop feeling as if she had two wonderful allies on her side. Mr. Proodle and Monty both believed her and were both only concerned for her safety.

 _III_

Mr. Proodle watched his young charge leave and then stood staring at the apple he had taken from the basket. Apples had always had a mixed rap throughout history. Some times an offering of poison, others a symbol of happiness. The Bible's story of the downfall of man was often depicted with the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil as an apple. Of course he knew that the kind of fruit never mattered, but that the flesh had been pierced and the meat ingested.

He took a bite.

Behind him he heard movement. "Well, what did we learn tonight?" Mr. Proodle asked the new comer.

No response.

Mr. Proodle took another bite. "She's going to the ball with this Mr. Brown."

Finally the new comer spoke, "I heard."

"And?"

"It is for the best."

Mr. Proodle humphed. "I don't like the way he smells," he declared. He took another bite.

"Your taste in aromatics has always been questionable."

The sound of movement again as if foot steps were retreating. Mr. Proodle called out, "You have a responsibility to the young woman."

"I have my job," the other corrected. "As you have yours."

"And the chance at a happy existence cannot be part of our jobs?" asked Mr. Proodle. Silence again. Mr. Proodler glanced behind him and found the other gone. Alone again, Mr. Proodle once more considered the fruit in his hand. "Fool," he said and took a bite.

 _Author's Notes: and since everyone has been so patient, chapter 11 is almost done. Things got a bit wonky around here: one kid was down sick and thought I had broken my foot. Fun times. Thank goodness for compression wraps and Tylenol._


	11. Chapter 11

_I_

The last box of books was just about repaired. Her time at the library had been rewarding. My first successful client, Sarah thought leaning back in her chair. Hopefully not your last. At least returning to the book shop wouldn't be awkward now that her master and her had an understanding. It felt good to have confided some of her problems in him.

She glanced around the conference room with it's poster reprints and faux fire place: she was going to miss it. There was so much she was going to miss.

With a shake of her head Sarah tried to push away her melancholy thoughts. It was her break for lunch and was going to pull up a chair to the faux fire and read. She had found a fairy book co-written and illustrated by Alan Lee and Brian Froud. Part of her worried that there were just too many fairy tales mixed in with the facts, that she would never find any help. As the Inklings Ball approached she was also loosing another month: seven more to go. Tick-tock, tick-tock.

She arranged herself in a chair at the far end of the table, closest to the heat. She began leafing through the book simply titled "Faeries." Little men living under hills. Old hags who would boil your flesh. Spriggans who guarded faery treasure. Sarah felt the warmth from the electric fan inside the faux fire place. She gazed at electric blue beings crackling with energy. Creatures who's skin grew from the very moss that lay on the ground. Such beauty. Sarah felt her eyes droop.

She dreamed she walked a hill side covered in soft grass. The blades tickled her bare toes and moistened her skin with their dew. As she descended the hill she approached a thicket bathed in twilight. Little blue lights danced in the foliage and a floral scent hung heavy in the air. As she observed the trees she noticed that some were already dropping their petals and beginning to show the green mounds of immature fruit. The further into the thicket she went, the more she noticed these. There would be a wonderful harvest in a few months. It filled her with wonder and satisfaction.

Then she came upon a tree whose branches were over laden with already ripened fruit. Some small creature scurried about, knocking and throwing the fruit to the ground. A hoarse voice exclaimed again and again, "Too easy! Too easy!"

Sarah blinked and the tree was stripped bare and the fruit spilled useless on the ground. She stared uncomprehending at the waste. Suddenly another small creature pulled at her leg. She instinctively knew it was a spriggan: he held up the handset end of a phone, while the cord was buried deep in the earth. She put the handset up to her ear. "The spriggans are performing their job," said a voice, smooth and cultured. She knew that voice: Jareth was speaking to her. "One cannot have things too easy- it leads to slothfulness and ungratefulness. Don't lament the ones on the ground though," he then commented as if he could see her expression. "Their sacrifice will allow for mature seeds to bury themselves deep in the earth and expand the thicket to an orchard."

Careful not to step on the fruit Sarah walked on. The cord to the phone stretched out behind her allowing her to hear his voice again. He told her that nature thrived when it had to work for what it needed. This was true not just in botany, but in all matters. The baker kneads the dough to make better bread. The cream must be churned to create butter. The wheat thrashed to collect the grain. A forest fire gives richness to the soil.

"Perseverance," she breathed. Her voice sounded too loud in such a sacred place.

"Too easy, too easy," he said his tone mocking the spriggan from the tree. "Survival of the fittest. Yin and yang. Blessings and curses. Drought and deluge."

She ducked under a tree branch. "Why not just tell me this? Why wait for me to dream?"

The voice she had been so certain was Jareth's chuckled, "Who says it's me telling you?"

There was a click and the line went dead.

Sarah startled awake in her chair in the conference room. The book she had been reading tumbled from her lap and slapped shut on the floor. She heard the click sound again. Standing she blinked rapidly expecting to find the king in the room with her, instead she realized the clicking was actually a knocking. She shook her head, "Come in!"she called.

To her dismay, Elias Brown opened the door to the conference room. She had not spoken to him since their initial meeting, nor had she received any more demanding notes. He was incredibly handsome. She hoped she didn't appear too blurry eyed. "Mr. Brown," she said greeting him.

"Miss Williams. So glad I found you still here." The door to the conference room slid shut behind him. "I understand today is your last day with the library," he said.

Sarah took him in his well tailor suite and self assured stance. She had second guessed her suspicions when it had come to her master, but when it came to Elias Brown she nearly felt bits of electricity running up and down her spine. Initially she had blamed the sensations on attraction, but now, she had little doubt that it was sort of supernatural energy. "For now," she said pointedly. "I have plans to return at a later date. Both my master and Ms. Primrose feel that I am well placed here."

"Excellent. I too am well placed, as you say, here at the library. My name gets things done. My word is as good as done."

Sarah raised her eye brows as if impressed. Inside though she wondered why he felt the need to boast in front of her. When he had tended her wrist, his confidence had been appealing, now it was rather irksome. "Good for you," she said dryly.

Abruptly he changed the topic, "The Inklings Ball is two weeks away. I feel it safe to assume that you are well prepared."

"i have a dress bought, if that's what you mean by prepared."

"Your choice in attire and your behavior that night will say a lot about your future here at this library," he then said.

"I assure you Mr. Brown that both my attire and my behavior will make the library and my master proud," she said, any trace of attraction she had once felt fading away. "Oh and another thing: don't bother sending a car. I'll see myself to the ball."

His face was so blank, it could have been stone. "See you then," he said, performed a small bow, and left the conference room.

Sarah found herself across the room and turning the little dead bolt in the door. Several of the blinds on the windows over looking the library had been open- these she closed. She was angry and hurt. And she needed to vent and berate someone. Anyone. Even if the person in question boasted great magical powers. Even if the person might be a total psychopath. Even if that particular person confused the heck out of her. She went to her messenger bag and pulled out her pouch of salt.

"Jareth, I need to speak to you," she said. It was the first time she had used his name to call him. It felt personal, yet also empowering. She knew his name now and she was going to use it. "Jareth!" she called again.

"So that's what my name sounds like on your lips," he commented appearing in the chair she had recently vacated. He was slouched down leaning on an elbow.

"Why me?" she asked rounding the table.

"A contract was made," he said.

"No. I don't buy it. I'm not some unique, one of a kind woman who can satisfy the payment," she said hotly.

"You were chosen as payment, that's what makes you unique," he explained.

"No. Any female would have worked. This whole imbalance nonsense could just as easily been satisfied by taking another."

"What do you know about imbalance?" he asked standing. A cape haphazardly fell from his shoulders.

"I know you practice it," she replied. "The terms of my contract were a male child for a female child. Very specific. There was a gender scale that needed tipping." She was in front of him now.

"True."

"Are you really trying to tell me that there weren't any other girls to be taken?"

The king's mouth pulled down at the corners and his eyes narrowed in her direction. "Really now, your life is worth far more than others?"

"I'm not saying that! But there has to be another way," she said her emotions getting the better of her. She hated how quickly she fell apart around him. She had tried being out right defiant. Then she had tried asking questions (granted she had only managed to ask one, but she had tried). And every time it was a dead end; a useless endeavor.

"Angry?" he asked.

"Yes!" she exclaimed throwing up her hands. "I'm exhausted from fighting this!"

The king's eyebrow quirked.

Sarah continued in a rush, "I feel like I'm loosing my mind. I'm paranoid, I'm stressed, and I feel as if I'm hurtling towards certain doom! And you are certainly not helping sending minions to look after me. All because of this stupid contract!" The last part she yelled at him forgetting that the library was just beyond a thin wall. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She hated that too. She was strong enough. He would not break her. "You could have-,"

He cut her off, "No I couldn't." He slowly shook his head. "You seem to be under the very false impression that I am omnipotent. There is a good deal I can do," he admitted. "And a fair amount that I enjoy doing, but there are those few instances when neither desire nor force of will can be of use. As you so wonderfully put it during our last conversation, I make the best of it."

Sarah sniffed, fighting her tears. "Are you saying you don't want me? That you have to take me?"

That seemed like a far fetched explanation after all the innuendos and flirting, and claims he had on her. Was the Great Imbalance a choice or a compulsion? She had been marked as payment, not by him, but by Karen.

The king had turned away and was standing in front of the faux fire place leaning against the mantel. He looked like he belonged in some old painting, hanging in a gallery. "Let me see, being forced to take on another subject when otherwise content- bit of a bother that. Finding out that she is a beautiful young woman with an enticing stubborn personality- now, that helps. Though she is a handful." He pushed away from the mantel. "But you are just as bound to the contract as everyone else involved. The witch gets a son. The girl is payment. And you, as king, have maintained the Imbalance. Perhaps with a few scratches and bumps, but who said ruling would be easy?"

"You," she paused feeling dizzy. The constant tension was wearing on her body. She heard a ringing in her ears. "You cannot break the contract. Why didn't you just say so?"

"Tsk. I'm fairly certain I made my claim on you quite plain."

Sarah dropped her eyes and let the tears begin to flow. The ringing in her ears hit a pitch that stung. "No," she said. "You didn't. You taunted and teased me. You want me broken!"

Silence. She started when she felt his hand on her cheek. "If you say so," he said looking down at her. "I offered you your dreams. Created an enchantment just for your enjoyment. Granted your father extra years."

Sarah could have sworn she smelled sandalwood. She remembered how the ballroom had been full of that fragrance. Dancing with him she had forgotten all her troubles, had simply existed in that moment. "You're manipulating me," she accused him and dried her cheeks.

He smirked and leaned near. "There's salt in your pocket," he whispered.

The salt. It protected her from spells and enchantments. Sarah swallowed hard. Her body, her memories were betraying her. It was so wrong!

The king, trailed his hand over her cheek again. "Perhaps we're both learning how to make the best of the situation."

Sarah felt her shoulders relax under his touch just as she had done the time before. The ringing in her ears lessened. He'd either disappear again leaving her dazed or, the holy saints help her, she was going to allow him closer. What had also been at the dance? A clock! Tick tock, tick tock. Abruptly she pushed his hand away. "Tell me more about the Great Imbalance," she told him.

He stared down at her intently for a moment, his eyes dancing over her face. "Put down your salt," he said. "And I will."

Sarah weighed this option. The last time he had asked her to remove her salt he had greatly unnerved her. But he hadn't hurt her. She thought back: he had rarely so much as laid a finger on her. Which didn't discredit some of the crazy, messed up things he had challenged her with. Her hand flexed around the bag of salt. "Why?" she asked.

"A game of trust."

"You've done nothing to earn my trust Jareth."

"I've been a man of my word Sarah," he replied, tapping her on the chin. "I have always acquiesced to your demands. Perhaps not the way you always expected," he added with a smirk. "But give credit where credit is due, Sarah."

She threw the salt on top of the conference table. "The Great Imbalance," she reminded him.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, the Great Imbalance." He paused and reached for her hand, raised her arm. "Consider if everything in your life went exactly the way you expected it to," he said. His gloved fingers were cool against hers. "How boring would that be? Perseverance. Ingenuity. Complex emotions. Where would these be? They would have no place in your existence."

Sarah watched as his hand move over hers. Eventually he cradled her palm in his and reached for her other hand. "I dreamed about such things," she confessed. "You were actually the one telling me that having things too easy leads to complacency and slothfulness."

"Indeed." He paused and eyed her with a grin, as if the confession that she dreamed about him was too satisfying.

"You weren't actually there. You were a voice on a telephone. Um," she let out as he put her other hand on his shoulder.

"Dreams can offer wonderful insights. What else was going on in your dream?"

"I was walking through a thicket that had several fruit trees. There were spriggans there as well and they decided that some of the fruit needed to be gotten rid of."

"Interesting how the universe works," observed Jareth. He had begun moving in slow lazy steps, backwards, side step, forwards. He had one of his own hands on her waist. The two of them were dancing. "You tapped into something very powerful. You see, Sarah, my religion as you put it, is actually an intricate part of how life operates."

"Blessings and curses," she murmured remembering another part of her dream.

"Some people believe in destiny and that the universe will remove all obstacles for you to reach your goal, when really the exact opposite is occurring. The universe will bless you and curse all in the same breath in the hopes that you will become a better version of yourself."

"And what are you in all of this- some sort of right hand man to the universe?"

"In some ways, yes."

And in other ways? Thought Sarah recalling how many times fae made contracts simply for their own selfish gain. She thought of Rumpelstiltskin agreeing to make gold in exchange for the woman's first born.

"It will push and prod you," he continued. "demand you do its will. But in the end you are still who you are, and not even the universe can change that."

The next thing she knew he had grabbed her, forcing her body against his, and bent his face to hers. He was strong and the force of his hold knocked the air out of her.

"I am a man," he stated his tone dark. He chaffed her arm as she struggled and regained his hold. "I have desires, I have wants. Does the universe care? No! And what's more, is it demands I do what it wants despite it all."

"Jareth let me go," she demanded struggling again. "If you want my trust you will let me go!"

"Oh, Sarah, pretty princess caught up in the unfairness of her situation never once considering how I might feel in this whole debacle."

"That hurts!" she exclaimed and he suddenly dropped his hands and stepped away from her.

The two of them stood there breathing heavy, the air thick and warm. Jareth was scowling at the floor. Sarah stumbled back to lean against the table, her legs unsteady. She swore under her breath, confused at his actions yet certain there was something she was supposed to be understanding.

He looked up at her. "But the game must finish," he then said. Some of the tension faded. He inclined his head in a bow. "Thank you for the dance." And he vanished.

"Crazy fae," she accused the empty spot.

 _II_

In the bathroom of the book shop Sarah clicked off her curling iron and turned to remove her dress from the hanger that was hooked to the back of the door. She had decided to change here at the shop instead of at home to avoid any weirdness with her father. He had been rather absent as of late, no longer hounding her every move, but Sarah felt that the sight of his daughter dressed a little provocative and going to a dance might be enough to start something.

On one hand she was living. For the first time in a while she doing more than tending books or riding her bike. But she was also going out with someone she was ninety-nine point nine percent sure was fae, or at the very least possessed some powers. She felt compelled to go out to this ball. One moment she envisioned herself tossing a flute glass of champagne in Mr. Brown's face, and in another she saw someone coming to her rescue, swiping her off her feet. Was she really living? Or being stupidly foolish?

That, she thought, is probably something only the universe knows.

The universe. Her conversation and resulting encounter with the king was still fresh in her mind. Being with him was almost like being with someone who suffered from multiple personalities. He could be lewd and creepy, charming and insightful, and then dangerous and frightful. _"Pretty princess caught up in the unfairness of her situation never once considering how I might feel in this whole debacle."_ She shook her head, feeling her long curls brush her shoulders. What did that mean? It more than suggested that he really was just making the best of the situation. That neither love nor lust had actually played a hand in bringing them together.

Under her dress she wore a garter belt to hold up her hosiery- through one of the eyelets she thread a bit of string and tied a small pouch of salt. She tucked it inside the hem for extra security. Vervain had been harder to come by, but in the end an herbal shop had some in a tincture. She dabbed a bit on each wrist. It actually smelled quite pleasant.

She stepped out into the backroom. It was empty. Monty had been oddly scarce during the last two weeks. She missed him terribly, but was also glad he wasn't there to see her leave to go to the ball with someone else. She gathered her personal items- makeup bag, curling iron, change of clothes- and left them on one of the work tables. Then she got her coat and small black clutch and went out into the main part of the shop. Mr. Proodle was there in a full tux, complete with tails. His mustache was waxed to a perfect point and it gleamed.

"Oh!" he exclaimed softly when he saw her. When she ducked her head slightly embarrassed he said, "None of that. Chin up. Shoulders back. You are royalty tonight. Live up to your name sake."

"Thank you, Mr. Proodle. I have an odd question," she then said.

"Yes?"

"Do you think I should be going with Mr. Brown tonight?"

Mr. Proodle sniffed and played with the watch fob dangling from his waist coat pocket. He considered her question for such a length that Sarah felt uncomfortable. "I think that being alone with any strange man is never a good idea without a measure of protection."He went to the reception desk and took out a small black item. "Here." He handed it to her. "Pepper spray is very effective against anyone or anything."

"You know originally he was going to send a car for me," she said looking at the dispenser. "Some wise words made me decide to call a cab instead. Would you share it with me?"

Mr. Proodle smiled. "I think that's a marvelous idea." He offered her his arm.

 _Author's notes: whew! I had fifty percent of this chapter written and then one night scrapped the lot of it and went a slightly different direction. One that I am far happier with and progresses the story. Thanks for staying tuned, folks._

 _A word about Sarah's decision making skills: **Solea** , you specifically pointed out that you found it jarring at times that she would so naively trust certain people and be prepared to go to the ball with Mr. Brown. Under extreme duress and stress we do not always make the best decisions, even if our track record would say otherwise. I have been in situations where due to the level of anxiety involved, well, much like Alice when in Wonderland, "I give myself very good advice, which I rarely seldom follow." She is limited with who she can go to about her situation- partly due do her own life choices and... hehehe can't say. In the words of a famous River, "Spoilers, you know."_


	12. Chapter 12

_I_

The library had been turned into a floating structure of fairy lights. Sarah found her feet planted in surprise on the sidewalk, her eyes dazzled by the beauty. Every ledge and corner was adorned with little white lights that left the impression that the building was being held together by stars. If each little bulb had suddenly leaped to life and began flying about, she doubted it would have fazed her. It was enchanting. Mr. Proodle turned back to look at her. He cocked his head amused at her reaction. "It is a splendid sight," he said with a nod. "Quite magical."

Sarah said, "I feel like I should be dressed in either an extravagant ball gown with hoop skirts or something ethereal and flowing. A cocktail dress just doesn't seem fitting."

Mr. Proodle secured her hand under his arm again. "Did you know that for her first public appearance after her engagement Princess Diana broke with tradition and wore a black gown?" he asked. "It was quite the shake up."

Sarah let him prattle on about how much the princess had changed things for the royal house hold, and how it pleased him tremendously. As she ascended the steps, nearly holding her breath, she heard him declare that royalty often gets stuck in tradition and forgets who they are as people. The inside of the library was alive with light and crystals, the effect was such that prism colors danced across the walls. She let Mr. Proodle check their coats. She stood there in the entrance prepared to be accosted by a horde of courtiers in masks. Couples mingled and a string instrument played some where. She exhaled slowly.

Mr. Proodle had just returned with her ticket stub, mentioning that the dinner gathering was to be in a down stairs room when the magic was broken by the appearance of Mr. Brown. Sarah felt her heart sink a little.

"My little page finally arrives," he said by way of greeting. "Alistair Proodle, I presume?" He extended his hand towards her master. "Our dedicated book binder."

Mr. Proodle took the hand. "Correct sir, and you must be Elias Brown. Good to finally put a face to you." His mustache twitched and he sniffed.

Sarah worked her fingers against Mr. Proodle's dinner jacket. He had just applied a possessive term to her: my page. Her legs broke out in goose bumps. "Mr. Brown," she said managing to sound polite.

"Miss Williams." And he pointedly proffered his arm.

She was expected to release her hold on Mr. Proodle and allow Mr. Brown to escort her. For a moment she didn't trust herself, she thought her knees might give out if she let go, but the moment passed. She straightened her back and smiled at her master. "Thank you Alistair," she told him and moved to Mr. Brown's side with a grace that indeed was worthy of her name sake: princess. There was a slight tingle under the contact.

"I'm sure we'll see more of each other throughout the evening," said Mr. Proodle.

It did not surprise her in the least that Elias Brown made no reply or offered any encouragement to any such further encounters. The two began the descent into the lower level. The room held at least thirty other people, some singles others couples.

"Your dress is most becoming," Mr. Brown said. "I approve of your choice. It is a most satisfying feeling to know that one is surrounded by beauty and that such beauty comes naturally."

"Thank you for the compliment," she replied.

At the bottom of the stairs, he asked her to wait for him while he retrieved some refreshment. She contemplated wandering off. But no, she had to find out who or what he was. Or at the very least learn a little about him. He returned with two glasses of a white wine. "Sip as you walk," said Mr. Brown guiding her forward. "There are some people I should like to introduce you to before we go in for dinner. It will be quite crowded later. Any interesting facts that you would care to illuminate before hand?"

"You mean you didn't investigate me prior to tonight?" she asked. To her own ears it sounded like something Monty would have said, a wrench thrown into the conversation to lighten the mood. She felt herself smile. She took a sip of the wine- it warmed her insides. She didn't have much experience with alcohol of any sort. There had been some champagne to toast a family friend's wedding some years back, but other than she had always assumed she would make it to the legal drinking of age of twenty-one and go out. She looked in her glass, licked her lips, and took another drink.

"Oh I know enough," replied Mr. Brown. "You have been Mr. Proodle's apprentice for almost two years. You took your GE test early prior to that. Your father is twice divorced."

Sarah looked over at him, her eyes assessing him.

"I did tell you I don't leave much to chance in my life," he said before taking a drink from his own glass.

"Then perhaps I should be the one asking questions about you," she said. "I know you are a huge supporter of the arts. That Ms. Primrose respects you. But other than that, I don't know you."

He didn't answer, but merely smiled and moved to introduce her to two men. Sarah tried to concentrate and remember their names. One said something about being here to appease his wife. The other made a comment about how it was refreshing to see young, new blood at the event. There were quiet laughs and sly smiles at that comment. Sarah was grateful for the sound of the dinner gong- all three men were making her uneasy.

The lower level was divided into three large rooms. To the left of the staircase would be the room for the art display accompanying the ball. The middle room for dancing. And the third to the right of the staircase was the room set aside for dining. Instead of one long dining table, there were intimate four to six people tables set up in a half circle around a string quartet. Glancing around Sarah noted that all three rooms were connected, their double doors thrown open to allow for passage. The lighting was adjusted in each room to create the appropriate ambience: the dinning room was in near twilight; the ballroom bright and cheery; the third, she craned her neck slightly, was lit in such a way that favorably displayed the art. What made the sight even more enchanting was the glass fronted book cases that lined the walls.

There were some opening comments and words of appreciation spoken. Sarah clapped enthusiastically when her master appeared to speak about the importance of the printed word and how important it was to preserve these works of art that graced the pages of the books. "J.R.R. Tolkien, the man in whose honor we hold this Inklings Ball, said, 'A single dream is more powerful than a thousand realities.' To that end, is why we hold dear each word in this library. And to those who dream, I say, cherish those visions that haunt you or pursue you; cherish and nurture each specter, each whim, each fancy." She had never been prouder of him.

Next to her Elias Brown clapped in the slow, appreciative way that smacks more of obligation and boredom. While enraptured in what her master had to say, the first course had been served and her wine glass refilled. Mr. Brown took his glass and said in a near whisper, "To nourishing our fancies." Reluctantly Sarah tipped the lip of her glass with his and drank.

The dinner was oddly quiet. The other occupants at the table were engaged with each other, while Mr. Brown sat poised and detached. Sarah was beginning to feel like an ornament, a pretty bauble he could display. She ate and enjoyed the food, attempting to join in the conversation. Each venture though was met with a sense of hesitance, as if her date was glaring at them over her shoulder. With a sigh she took another drink from her wine glass. If Elias Brown was any sort of- well anything, magical or otherwise- he certainly wasn't showing his hand.

"I understand that you are a man of leisure," she said as the first course was cleared. "Aside from supporting the library what else are you interested in?"

"I used to travel a good deal," he replied. Then no further elaboration.

When the last plates were cleared and people were either lingering over coffee or adjourning to the other rooms Sarah decided that she was nearly bored to tears. What a waste of a night! When an attendant arrived and requested Mr. Brown's presence he said, "I shall return shortly. Stay put."

Yeah right, Sarah thought in relief. She saw him exit through some side door. Without hesitating she vacated the table and made for the ballroom. Her eyes squinted in the change of light and for a brief moment the dancers were blurry. She could sense them moving around the floor- agile and elegant, she thought for sure she must look glaringly out of place in her black dress. Concentrating she managed to clear her vision. She saw plenty of other woman wearing black, as well as the black tuxes of the men. She fit in just fine.

Finding Ms. Primrose, who smiled wide and delighted at finding her there, was a welcome relief. "You look marvelous Sarah!" she exclaimed. She was then introduced to the librarian's companion, a Mister Geoffrey Stapleton who had aided in the restoration of some paintings at one of the local museums. "Sarah is actually an apprentice to our book binder, Alistair Proodle," said Ms. Primrose.

"Similar lines of work," observed Mr. Stapleton as the three of them moved towards the third room where the art was on display. "We are a shrinking commodity, you and I, but still much needed. Elise," he then said addressing Ms. Primrose. "wasn't there something you were going to mention to Alistair and his young charge?"

"Oh yes there was! With all the preparations that went into tonight I had completely forgotten. Sarah," she said looking at her. "I have plans to discuss with Mr. Proodle the possibility of both of you working with Geoffrey and the staff at the museum regarding some books that are in desperate need of preservation."

Mr. Stapleton continued, "It's a set of first edition fairy tales that were recently discovered. It's rumored one of them bears an artist's signature."

Sarah felt her heart lighten and the familiar excitement of working with books return: the high, the quickening of her pulse. "Oh that would be wonderful," she agreed eagerly, forgetting her time and the contract. "If I run into Mr. Proodle I will be sure to mention the proposition to him."

"Speaking of the man," said Ms. Primrose with a nod. "Alistair, aren't you dashing this evening!"

Sarah beamed at her master as he kissed Ms. Primrose on the cheek and shook hands with Mr. Stapleton. The proposed contract with the library was mentioned and he agreed heartily that it would be a wonderful experience. "Now, I have come to steal away my young charge," he announced. "Sarah, my dear, I must have a dance."

"I cannot refuse my master," she replied theatrically and accepted his hand. Sarah was grateful that it was a simple waltz. She was grateful that it was Mr. Proodle who took her hand and waist. He asked if she had been enjoying her evening. "My date unfortunately has proven to be a bit dull," she replied.

"Oh that is a shame. Easy there, are you alright?" he then asked when she squinted and shook her head.

"The lights are a bit bright in here," she replied. She felt her master adjust his hold on her, offering more support. Perhaps she had, had too much wine. Her master kept her to the edge of the dancers, at a slower pace. Again she felt gratitude.

When someone tapped Mr. Proodle on the shoulder she was afraid that Elias Brown had found her. Despite all her plans and schemes she actually dreaded the thought of being with him again. To her amazement, when Mr. Proodle stepped aside, it was Monty. She stared at him. His hair had been some what tamed to one side and he wore a cravat in lieu of a bow tie with his tux.

"May I cut in?" he asked though he didn't pause for an answer. He stepped in and took Mr. Proodle's place.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mr. Proodle smile and back away without objection. Not that he could have said anything that would have prevented her from allowing Monty's hand to take hers and his arm to move around her waist. Monty. Sarah felt the same thrill she got when she thought about her books, but intensified. Their bodies brushed against one another sending a warm jolt through her.

"Hello," she managed to say.

"Well, hello," he replied. "Fancy meeting you here."

A small laugh, more breath than sound. "Why didn't you mention you were coming tonight?" she asked.

"I wasn't sure that I was until rather the last minute," he replied. His eyes danced over her. "You look incredible."

Sarah felt her cheeks redden. "You clean up nice yourself," she teased.

If he asked her to leave the event and go some where with him, private and alone, she knew she would say yes. Instead he continued to dance with her. That was fine too. Just being with him was wonderful.

"I've been a fool," he told her after a while. "Never stopping to think that in the middle of my struggles the universe might be giving me exactly what I need." His brow creased. "Forgive me?" he asked his voice almost a whisper.

Sarah saw strange workings in his face as if he were struggling with a strong emotion. She looked at him, on one hand very flattered by his confession, and on the other bewildered that a man who hadn't ever asked her on a traditional date would speak so. It wasn't merely a maturity aspect, Sarah was sure of that. Monty was a different breed all together, choosing to court her and to communicate with her rather than rushing head long into dating and a physical relationship. It made him incredibly sexy. She wanted to reach up and kiss him. She ached to.

And just what was she to forgive him of? For respecting her age and innocence? The lights once more blurred her eye sight. Speaking about the universe and desires and wants. Now why did that sound vaguely familiar? She squinted.

Monty slowed his steps. "Sarah?" he asked, concerned.

"It's nothing," she said. "Monty, you have nothing to apologize for. You have been amazing," She paused, realizing she had almost said, I love you. Did you profess such things before you had actually kissed? Do you when your time is running out? She thought. She had done exactly what the Goblin King had challenged her to do: be in a relationship. However non-traditional it was, however wonky things were, she had achieved the challenge. And she couldn't bring herself to say, I love you.

She swallowed.

As if he had read her thoughts he said, "I know things might be difficult, that there's a lot of risk, but what relationship worth its salt doesn't have those things? You and I…we can learn to understand one another. We can."

A flash of light in her vision as her eyes struggled to focus. She wanted to ask him to explain his words; that despite their difference in ages she was certain they could work. They did understand one another, very well. The music had stopped though and there were too many voices.

"Sarah!" A voice broke through the confusion. Sarah looked over her shoulder: Elias Brown was a few steps behind her, a scowl on his handsome features. She felt Monty's hands tighten for a moment, and then drop from her body. "There you are," Mr. Brown said, his own hand reaching for her arm.

"Mr. Brown this is my co-worker, Monty Jones," she said introducing the two men she had hoped would never meet. She suddenly felt quite dizzy. Mr. Brown caught her and made a firm statement about being responsible for his date. No, she wanted to go with Monty. Her body was not cooperating though. She felt herself being led away.

Leaning heavily on Mr. Brown's arm, she walked with him. All she wanted was to clear her head and see straight, and then ditch this man. She had to maintain some degree of poise though. Had to. That was what confident, strong women did, stayed collected even when feeling their world tipping sideways; even when faced with goblin armies. Wait, what? She thought. There aren't any goblins here. Still the notion prevailed: she was going to have to fight something.

The light softened and Sarah realized they were in the third room where the art was on display. It was less glaring and her eyes sight cleared a little. Her body though was still behaving weirdly, not quite responding to her brain. She felt a glass being forced into her hand and guided to her lips. More wine. It was cool in her mouth. "There you are," said Mr. Brown, encouraging her to drink. "Let it do it's job." Some couples walked by, laughing and talking. When they had passed on, he spoke again, "Calm yourself. Stop fighting it. Here's your clutch." He physically tucked her arm around it. "We are going to walk to the staircase, we are going up, and we are leaving. Together."

Sarah heard the words. Knew that it implied some sort of relationship she did not want nor even hinted at in rumor. She felt her clutch in her hand, felt Mr. Brown's arm guiding her, and even felt her legs step up onto the stairs. Her mind screamed: No! She did not want to leave with him, her stomach turned into a pit of acid at the thought, but she couldn't stop herself. What had he done to her?

One panicked thought ran through her head: what if he was Jareth in disguise? The same overly confident, cocky, self-assured selfishness. Was he demonstrating to her just how powerful he was? The thought that he could take her against her will made her fight all the harder against her body.

At the top of the stairs they passed a little bent man. Mr. Brown retrieved her ticket stub from her clutch and left her standing alone. "No," she heard herself mumble, hoping that someone, even the old man would hear her. It was spoken too quiet. No one could hear her. Not that there were many near the coat check. It was still relatively early in the evening, too soon for most of the attendees to be leaving.

Mr. Brown was back, adjusting her coat over her shoulders. "Don't want you to catch cold," he said. She managed to refuse to cooperate to let him put her arms through the holes. He stood close to her, playing with the buttons on her coat, looking for all the world like they were having a private conversation. "She warned me that you were particularly stubborn," he said. "Now, I just need you to be a good girl and leave with me without making a scene. You do this for me and I will arrange for some more freedom later. A good struggle gets the blood pumping." He laughed as if he had made a joke.

 _II_

Monty sat at one of the dining tables. The room was nearly empty and he could brood in peace. He played with a half empty cup of cold coffee, swirling the contents. He had asked for her forgiveness and she had given it to him freely. No, she had given it to Monty Jones freely. Monty she could trust, Monty she could easily excuse. But how much of what he had done would she be willing to forgive or even understand?

He reasoned that he had tried. He had been direct, brutally so to get her to understand matters. Though he had also been quite lewd and provocative as well, his conscience reminded him. It was near impossible to turn that part of himself off around her. He laughed cynically. She didn't mind Monty's forwardness. Of course that man hadn't threatened to take away her baby brother or own a contract on her life.

But then Elias Brown had happened.

She had arrived with him. She had come to the ball with him. Of course she would do the proper thing and leave with him. He twirled the liquid in the cup. It was so like her to do the proper thing, so like her. There could be a possibility that she would contact him later: a simple phone call to the book shop would suffice. He let the cup wobble on the saucer. In the long run though, her trusting him did nothing. The game had gone pear shaped loosing any of the fun that it had once promised.

His eyes wandered over the room. Alistair was edging his way around the dance floor, heading towards the door that led back to the staircase. For a moment the man's presence shimmered. Monty's brow creased and he looked to the staircase to see what was upsetting Alistair: a bent old man, leaning on a cane, was descending the last few steps. Checking to make sure he wasn't missing any other important elements, he got up from the table and approached the stairs. Alistair and the little man were engaged in an animated though quiet conversation.

"Alistair what is it?" he asked.

"Sarah and Mr. Brown are gone," he replied distractedly. To the little man he said, "Are you sure? You need to be certain!"

Monty sighed. "Alistair, while I appreciate your concern,"

"He's not Mr. Brown," interrupted the little man.

Monty caught Alistair's eye: an unspoken understanding passed between them. "Lift your veil," Monty ordered the little man. "Show your true self."

The little man clicked his cane against the floor, agitated. "I don't have to do nothing! Alistair who is this man?"

Monty jerked his chin up and allowed his glamour to fall away for a brief moment. The little man gasped and mumbling apologies, allowed his own glamour to lift just enough for his true self to be seen. "You're a spriggan," Monty observed.

Alistair said, "He guards several powerful books in one of the storage rooms here at the library. Broden, repeat what you told me."

"That man is not Mr. Brown," he declared. "I have been at this library for well over a decade- I know every smell that comes through the place. That one might look the part, dress the part, but he doesn't smell the part."

"I told you I didn't like the way he smelled," commented Alistair.

"We didn't sense any magic though," said Monty, at a loss. He ran his hands through his hair. "What does he smell like?" he then asked, a thought occurring to him.

"Rather earthy," answered Alistair.

"Like clay," said Broden the spriggan.

Panic took hold of him: it swelled around him in a sickening embrace. Sarah could be in terrible danger. The lights dimmed and flickered in the entire library. "Not fae magic," Monty exclaimed through clenched teeth.

Alistair touched his arm. "Keep your veil down," he reminded him eyeing some near by guests who glanced at the lights in alarm. "What do you think is going on?"

Monty took a deep breath and pulled his veil closer, trying to maintain some control. "The witch," he bit out. "Spriggan, are there more relatives here at the library? Good. Inquire of them regarding this Mr. Brown. Fold the planes and report to me if they confirm your suspicions." He began taking the steps at a quick pace. Behind him he heard Alistair following. He walked past the coat check and out into the night. It was bitingly cold.

"What do you intend to do?" asked Alistair catching up with him. "What exactly do you suspect?"

"An imposture. More specific, a clay man most probably created by the witch," answered Monty. His eyes scanned the darkness, distinguishing shadowy shapes: vehicles parked, trees, a few people walking.

Alistair looked shocked. "She wouldn't!" he exclaimed. "A witch would know better than to tamper with our kind."

"It is what I suspect, and why I must find Sarah," he replied. "A clay man does only as he is bid with no moral compass. Return below and put the guard on alert- they may need to comb the night if I cannot locate her."

"You think you'll be able to trace her?"

The eyes that scanned the night altered: the iris changing colors and becoming the eyes of a nocturnal predator. "I shall use the bit of peach. If she snaps, I'll be able to trace her very easily."

"But if she snaps," Alistair let the words trail.

The two men stared at each other. The man who called himself Monty changing in the dim light, pulling shadows and blending further into the night. His last human thoughts before the transformation were for Sarah to fight. Then an owl flapped its wings and took off into the night.

 _III_

She was in a car. Sarah blinked. It was longer and roomier than a regular car, with a partition at the far end. No, she was in a limousine. Next to her something clanked and she sensed movement. Slowly she turned her head: Elias Brown was sitting next to her helping himself to a drink from a small wet bar tucked into the siding. Gingerly she moved her head back the other way, testing how much control she had.

The last thing she could recall was him putting her coat around her shoulders. Some how the two of them had left the library together and had gotten into a car. Her stomach burned and she thought she might be sick.

She moved just enough so she could watch him. This wasn't Jareth's style. He liked to tease, even be demonstrative, but it was typically… Snatch and grab, she thought recalling her and Monty's conversation. The king liked to rush head long at her and throw her off balance. This wasn't the usual fae tactic. No. At this moment she felt like a mouse who had been cornered by a cat, and the animal was lazily enjoying her trepidation.

Besides anything involving the king was usually accompanied by scents that reminded her incense and holy rituals. Sandalwood. Sage. Sarah took a deep breath. Here in the vehicle, in such close quarters, she was reminded of wet dirt.

The acid in her stomach burned harder.

Mr. Brown set his drink aside and angled his body towards hers. One of his hands reached up to caress the side of her face. "Such beauty," he commented. "She always promised me beautiful creatures."

Sarah managed to grimace and turn slightly away.

"I see some of your control has returned. Good." His hand traced down her neck, passed almost casually over her breasts, and slid to the hem of her dress. "But not too much," he commented with a smile.

Sarah felt a rush of anxiety and humiliation. This wasn't right. She cursed the universe. She cursed the fae, and all things magic. She cursed her fickle heart for not having stayed with Monty. She cursed everything and anyone she could think of in the midst of the hot blindness that filled her mind.

At her sides her fingers twitched.

He was kissing her neck and shoving her dress up higher.

"No," she managed weakly.

He moaned as if her defiance gave him pleasure. "Say it again. Refuse me."

Her stomach hurt. She realized the acidic indigestion she felt was searing her insides. Part of her wanted to throw up, a desperate attempt to stop his assault.

This was not consensual. The thought ripped through her mind. The king, Jareth, he had said she would come willingly. Had promised! This humiliation was not him! Then…Who? Or what?

The sound of material ripping as part of her hosiery was yanked away. She had to do something. She had to think. But how? The acid burned up her throat and an explosive, burning pain ruptured from her middle outward. "No!" This time she screamed. The pain pulsed again and a shimmering wave knocked Elias Brown backwards, slamming him against the side window, and he lay still. The car stalled instantly.

Sarah felt her limbs move, heavy and lethargic. Must get out, she thought willing her body to get going. Some how the door swung open and she managed to crawl out. The pavement was cold and icy. Her hand slipped and she felt her shoulder knock hard against the cement. She kicked her high heels loose and pushed against the lip of the door, trying to get further away. She saw things shimmer again and she coughed and joked on the taste of peach in her mouth. Then she collapsed against an icy patch, her mind reeling and her body exhausted.

She heard the fluttering of wings, could smell sandalwood in the bitter cold air, and a blackness took her.


	13. Chapter 13

_I_

When she next came to, Sarah found herself under a sheet lying in a bed. The room was too dark to determine much. That and her eyes were still not quite cooperating. At least the linens were soft and they smelled vaguely familiar. A hand cradled her head and something wet was pressed to her lips. She panicked, sloshing whatever liquid it was, afraid it would harm her. A calm, soothing voice spoke, "It's alright. Ssshh! It's me, Sarah. Ssshh!" The liquid tasted like water.

When she came round again she was on her side. Across from her Monty was stretched out, white dress shirt half undone and hair falling over his eyes. Monty. She was only vaguely aware of her movements. All she knew was that she liked the way his chest felt under his shirt and how soft his hair was as she ran her hands through it. For what could have been a few seconds or even hours she inhaled his scent and nearness. He took her by the waist and to her dismay, he began to gently pushed her away. "No, dearest," she heard him say. The pout and the whine were a bit much, she knew this, but it felt right. He felt right. He was warm and firm and strong. With sternness he forced her back to her side of the bed. "Go back to sleep," he ordered her.

She knew she slept. One moment she was examining herself- out of body, hovering over her own figure- surrounded by goblins, and then she was stirring awake having felt the bed move. Her eyes opened and there was light from a window filtered by curtains. Her eyes were able to focus on some sparse furniture and the large bed she was occupying. Bed. Someone's bed. With a start she sat up, grabbing at her clothes. She was more than relieved to find herself still dressed, even her stockings were still pulled up. Taking a deep breath she laid back on the pillow.

Good grief, what had happened? Last night had been the Inklings Ball; she had left the book shop with Alistair Proodle. She was certain of that. She had gone with him. Could she be in Alistair's bedroom? Sarah scrunched up her face at that thought. Keep thinking, she told herself, the night did not end with you going home to your boss's place. No way! No.

She had met and even danced with other people. She glanced at the other pillow on the opposite side of the bed. "Monty," she whispered recalling him sleeping next to her. He had been looking after her because…because…Well, she wasn't certain why she had needed looking after. Had she tried to kiss him, came the stray thought.

She slipped off the bed. Immediately outside the door she was met with a kitchen and living room crammed together. It was an incredibly small place. At the narrow counter tinkering with a glass contraption was Monty. Despite her confusion over what exactly had transpired the night before, she was struck hard by his male presence. Shirt tale hanging loose over wrinkled tux slacks and bare feet on the tile floor: she had never found him more attractive.

There was something different about him though. It was almost as if there was an outline to him: one moment it was a clear haze, and then she'd see flashes of color when she tried to clear her eyes. She rubbed her face, ad grunted at the colors.

Monty looked back, noticing her. The glass container was a french press: he was making coffee. "You're up," he exclaimed.

"Yeah," she said.

"How are you feeling?"

"A bit muddled."

He nodded and turned back to the counter. "You should be lying down," he scolded her. "Last night was a bit of an ordeal."

"About last night," she began to say. Something clattered on the counter. Monty swore under his breath.

Sarah went to him. Perhaps her brain was still a bit addled, or perhaps she was under the influence of something; it didn't matter. What she did know was that last night he had done something to keep her safe; had intervened in a potentially dangerous situation. That from their very first cup of coffee he had accepted all the risks. She turned him towards her, reached up and pulled his lips to hers. For a moment she tasted ozone and something bitter, and then warmth poured through her.

Monty pulled her close and kissed back. "After everything," he said, his voice strained.

She kissed his cheek, just next to his mouth. "Whatever happened last night was not your fault."

He moved his head back. "I was supposed to protect you."

"And you did," she said gripping his shirt. "That much I am sure of."

Monty shook his head. "I shouldn't have let you out of my sight last night." He moved his arms around her and held her head against his chest. For a moment they stood tightly pressed together, holding on to the other. When he finally spoke, Monty asked, "What exactly do you remember?"

Sarah relaxed against him, enjoying the support of his body and the way his hands roamed over her back. A little memory came together of her pushing herself against him last night. "I remember eating and then dancing," she said. "I danced with Alistair… and you." Sarah moved back to look at him. She wanted to see his eyes, to look into them and have some validation that he loved her as she loved him. There were bits and pieces of a confession regarding the universe giving him what he needed. The extra color that had been around his person, moved through his eyes, and for a moment the pupils were lost in a haze.

Then he was kissing her. Sarah gave into the warm tingles that raced over her and clung to him. It was a rush of hands and forceful kisses. She wanted to feel him, to relieve the pressure; a break from the constant strain. They navigated the small kitchen and were in the doorway to the bedroom when Monty pushed her up against the door, sliding his hands over her body. Sarah heard herself whimper. Her fingers found the buttons on his shirt and began to work them free.

Monty drew back and led her the few steps to the bed. Sarah let him lay her down, moving to allow enough room for both of their bodies. Her breathing hitched in anticipation as she felt his hand slide along her leg and move the hem of her dress. Oh how much she wanted this. The sudden stillness that followed unnerved her: Monty's hand was resting against her thigh and his eyes were intently studying something.

Sarah raised herself on an elbow. "What?" she asked, trying to fight the feeling of self awareness.

Where her hosiery met the garter belt, where it should have been secured by an eye and button, it was torn. The material had at least two gaping holes and were snagging in a run. Several red slashes marred her skin where finger nails had grabbed at her.

The marks were ugly. Sarah's mind began piecing more events together. She had been alone with Elias Brown. Brown had been her date. Sarah fell back against the mattress as more things began to make sense. The feeling that Monty had saved her from something truly horrible, now being confirmed. She was a violated woman. Damaged goods. She covered her face with a hand in frustration, her arousal quickly turning to shame.

The bed moved as Monty shifted. Sarah glanced down from under her hand, expecting to find him moving away. Instead she saw him lowering his face and pressing his lips to the spot of skin. "This shouldn't have happened," he said. He kissed the spot again, tender and revered.

Sarah reveled in the intimate sensations. He was sensual moving over her abdomen and legs, yet some how chaste, never forcing his way beyond the surface. He pulled himself up to lean over her face, looking all too pleased with their situation. Then slowly shook his head, and nuzzled up to her neck. "We had better stop," he said his voice muffled.

She wrapped a leg around one of his. "Whatever for?"

With a sigh he looked down at her again. Despite the smirk that threatened his lips and the way his eye brows rose up, he said, "Jailbait."

Sarah heard herself laughing at the absurdity. "I swear it is consensual," she managed to say.

Monty leaned over on his side, holding to her leg that she had wrapped around him. "What the deuce is this?" he asked suddenly, pinching the pouch of salt still tucked under her stocking.

Satisfied for the moment that they were still entwined and lying on his bed, Sarah allowed for the change in topic. "That is salt," she explained. "It was supposed to be a bit of protection." With an effort she broke the string. "Didn't do much good." She balled the pouch into a fist. She looked at him: his eyes were once more focused on the tears in her stockings. "Does it," she paused, wondering if his real reason for stopping had something to do with what had happened. "Does what happened change the way you feel about me?"

"No," Monty said. He came near again, stroking her face. Softly he kissed her. "Oh, Sarah, my beautiful princess, if anything it validates how I feel about you. I want what's best and I'm not sure this," he nodded at the bed pointedly. "is the best course of action after such a traumatic event."

"Something's gotta give Monty," she told him. "I'd rather give in to wanting you, than loose my sanity."

He let himself gently fall against her, body to body, and she heard an exaggerated moan against her chest. She smiled to herself pleased. Then he mumbled something about how her father should keep her under lock and key; she was too tempting.

"My father!" she exclaimed. She had never gone home. She hadn't even called. She always called. "Oh, crap he's gotta be worried sick!" She shoved up and began scrambling off the bed. Monty told her the telephone was by the couch. She paused in the door way and looked back at him, he was smiling placid and too innocent. "I see what you did there- making me worry about my dad," she said. "Very clever that! But you haven't convinced me. Just delayed things." And she went out into the other room.

Despite knowing that matters had been completely out of her control, Sarah still managed to feel a pang of guilt for making her dad worry. When she took the time to think outside herself, she knew that he lived a very high strung existence all due to what his wife had done. Not hearing from her, especially having been out all night, he would have every reason to be a wreck. By the second ring he had picked up, the anxiety evident in his voice. "Hi dad- it's me," she said meekly, sitting on the arm of the couch.

"Where on God's green earth have you been? I've been worried sick all night!" he yelled.

He never yelled at her. Never. "Yes, I know, I know. Dad, I'm safe, but something happened."

"What?"

"Well, I'm not exactly sure, but I think someone tried to rufi me last night. Sheesh, dad, please stop yelling."

With effort, he lowered his voice to a normal volume. "Have you called the police? Where are you? I'm coming to get you!"

"No, I haven't called the police." She sighed and taking a deep breath went on, "I am safe. I am… at a friend's place. Dad. Dad! Listen to me, I am safe where I am and I'm trying to make sense of what happened."

"You tell me where you," he demanded. "Who are you with- Tori?"

"No, not Tori." She hesitated for a moment. "Dad, I'm with Monty; yes, my co-worker. No, I don't want to come home. Not yet."

Silence. Sarah could see him standing in their living room, rumpled clothes, and an unshaved face. "Look, Sarah, I know things haven't been the best as of late and I have been distant, but please, don't push me away. If something happened between you and this man, and you're afraid to tell me,-"

She quickly cut in and reassured him "No, dad. Monty saved me from a bad situation last night. I owe him my life. I know you two need to be properly introduced and all, but believe me when I say, he is a true gentleman and the best. The absolute best."

"Do you need anything?" he then asked.

What did she need? A shower, some strong coffee, and a good screw? She took a deep breath. "Some time," she told him. "Okay? I need some time. I left some clothes at the book shop- I'll have Monty go get them." And then she added, "I love you dad."

"I love you too Sarah." And she ended the call.

In her hand she still held the pouch of salt. Having said everything out loud, her emotions finally caught up with her. It was odd how the same hormones that made her ache for Monty could then burn a different sort of hot in anger and frustration. She raised her arm and threw the pouch across the room. There wasn't much space for it to go far and it bounced off a full book shelf and landed in the kitchen.

Her time was running out. She had felt as if she was doing alright- she had Monty, and she was loved and wanted. With his assistance she had learned some insightful facts about the king, which helped even it didn't change things. Now. She raised her eyes to the heavens. Now she had this to deal with: Elias Brown.

She looked over to see Monty kicking the small pouch out of the middle of the floor. It rolled under a cabinet. He was out of his formal clothes and wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt. Over his arm he had his leather jacket. From a small tray he retrieved a wallet and a set of keys. "Hey, so the coffee is cold now," he said and laughed softly. "I'll run out and get some breakfast and fresh coffee. Did you say you had some clothes and stuff back at the shop?"

"Yes."

He came to her and hugged her. "You stay here. There's a restroom and shower, just through the bedroom." With a kiss to the top of her head, he made for the front door.

Sarah called after him, "I love you Monty."

She heard him pause at the door. "Love you too." The door clicked shut and she heard the lock engage.

In the bathroom she saw herself in the mirror: smudged makeup, hair tussled, and lips slightly chapped. And he had wanted her. More importantly, he had said he loved her too. That at least is going right, she thought to herself. She showered, the hot water helped settle her emotions. Towel tucked around her she went back into the bedroom, wondering if she should pull her dress back on or do the silly cliche thing of wearing something of her boyfriend's. The little closet on the opposite side of the room had only his over sized sweater, one or two dress shirts, and his formal clothes had been hung up. A few pairs of shoes were on the floor. There was a small dresser drawers. These proved just as sparse as his choice in decorating. Having put back on her own underwear, she pulled one of his tshirts over her head.

Out in the living room she snooped through the book shelf. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something skitter across the floor. She yelped and jumped up on the couch, convinced she had seen a rat or a mouse.

 _II_

He unlocked the front door to the book shop. Once inside he raised both arms and snapped his fingers: the door re-locked and the blinds pulled down over the windows. The small desk lamp was on and its light illuminated the face of Alistair, who stood wearily leaning in the door way that led to the back room. Things went wonky as the light suddenly flickered. A crackling passed through the air. When the electricity righted its self Jareth the Goblin King stood in full regal attire: hard leather armor on and crescent moon pendant on display.

He took Alistair in with his glamour still in place. "Tell me you caught him?" he asked.

"Oh I did. With the help of a few goblins, we managed to collect him and get him back here," said Alistair. "I wasn't about ready though to expose my true self to the likes of him."

Jareth strode forward, and moved around Alistair to go in the back. The thing that had been Elias Brown sat in a chair, bound with enchanted rope. Not that he showed any signs of having struggled: he was actually quite composed and still. He neither blinked nor even appeared to breathe. But Jareth sensed an awareness, as if he were being observed by an invisible spectator. The room smelled of damp earth and a musk that suggested decomposition of organic matter.

His cape unfurled and he drew the shadows of the room closer, dimming what little light there was in the back room. As a royal in the Underground his presence should cause the individual behind the creature to reconsider their actions. He understood why Alistair remained in human form, his name and magic did not bear the same power and significance. He did not want a clay man or a witch to know exactly who he was. A choice that unfortunately Jareth did not have.

Electrical currents zipped around the room, drawing the creature's attention: the head turned slightly and the eyes settled on Jareth. "Do you know who I am?" he demanded of the creature.

Elias Brown's voice had lost it's smoothness. "Pretty king," he croaked.

Jareth's eyes narrowed. "I am one of the eternal born, son of Oberon, and keeper of The Great Goblin Horde. The crescent moon resides over my house: I am Jareth, the Goblin King! And you," he paused and pointed a gloved finger at the creature. "are tampering with what's mine."

Nothing.

"Who are you?"

Elias Brown smiled. "A challenge."

"Your master is a witch," stated Jareth.

The grin widened.

Jareth vanished and moved to the front of the shop once more.

Alistair spoke, "What do you want to do?"

Jareth's brow creased. "If he were merely a golem we could remove his third eye and that would be the end of him. Unfortunately, as a clay man, his very existence is dependent on the miniature the witch controls."

"I still find it hard to believe that the witch would do this," said Alistair. "She's jeopardizing her son by causing Sarah harm."

Sarah. The mention of her name made him think of her warm and eager in his bed; just where they had been earlier this warming. He had nearly lost all control. Nearly. It had not been merely his force of will that had stopped him from making love to her. Discovering the pouch of salt tucked into her stocking had a lot to do with it. Sarah was under the impression that the salt simply protected her from charms and the use of the magic, and perhaps if it had been your basic table salt that would be all it could do. She had pure sea salt in that pouch though. It prevented a fae from doing anything to her person. Before he had only been able to touch her when she removed the pouch- caressing her head, dancing with her- but this morning (he closed his eyes at the memory) this morning, he had gladly endured the dizzy spells and pushing against the invisible barrier, because she had wanted him.

There was one more reason as well. A reason, that three years ago when this whole ordeal had begun, had never occurred to him. She had been a child then, pure and innocent, and she fulfilled the contract. At that time the thought had only been mildly entertained that one day she would be this incredible woman.

Idiot, he thought to himself.

Of course he had also thought she would be raised into adulthood in the Underground. Having fulfilled the contract and continued the Great Imbalance, she would be free to be pursued romantically. Bedding her then wouldn't affect anything. The contract was a child for a child though, and she had to remain innocent to be his payment.

Which brought him back to the current situation: why would the witch Karen Williams want her to loose her virginity? She had not struck him as short sighted; shrewd and single minded to be sure, but calculating nonetheless. She had to know that she was gambling with her son.

"How is she this morning?" asked Alistair when he hadn't said anything.

As randy as an alley cat, he thought, and cleared his throat. "She's doing surprisingly well," he answered. Jareth knew that while his faithful servant endorsed his king's feelings for Sarah, he was too proper to want to know the details. The little man nodded and then yawned. "You've been using a good deal of your magic lately," he observed.

Alistair nodded and smoothed his mustache. "I'm alright. I changed while we pursued Mr. Brown last night. Your majesty, what are we going to do?"

"Find the witch," he said. "Protect the daughter and the son. Sarah is expecting me back at the apartment. Keep the shop closed and use seven containment charms- I'm not taking any chances."


	14. Chapter 14

From where she stood on the couch Sarah searched Monty's small kitchen, half hoping, half dreading seeing the little creature scuttle across the floor again. The thought that a rodent was living in her boyfriend's apartment made her skin crawl. She could hear it, and she stifled a squeal in response. She had just decided that Monty coming home to find her in one of his tshirts and little else, perched on the back on the couch, was just going to have to be acceptable, when she spotted it again.

Sarah watched in bewilderment as a small figure on it's hands and knees came crawling out. No paws. No fur. But an actual little man! He smiled with a mouth full of crooked teeth, and cautiously waved at her. "So sorry to startle you," he said. "I was just looking for his majesty."

His majesty? Did he mean Jareth? He certainly did not look like a goblin. He was too human, resembling more of a wrinkly old man in pants and a shirt.

Without giving her a chance to respond, the little man gasped and got up off the ground. He dusted his knees, smoothed his unruly hair, and bowed. "I did not realize who you were at first!" he exclaimed. "It is an honor to see you again, Sarah Williams."

Sarah began to recover herself. "Um, hello," she said lamely.

"Broden, the spriggan at your service." Another low bow.

It had been years since she had seen anything fantastical. Her time in the Labyrinth had only recently been returned to her- the memories of the creatures, the plants, of her friends- and the king, well, he too had only in the last couple of months returned to her life. Why now? Why could she see this little man, this spriggan now?

There was a possibility that this little creature was not a subject of the Goblin King's. There were other faes, other royal households. The thought that she had attracted the attention of yet another magical being made her stomach knot.

She then asked, "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

"I live at the library," he replied. "Though you probably only saw me in human form: bent, older man with a cane?"

Bent, older man with a cane- yes, she had seen him. Her and Elias Brown had passed him as they had made their way up the stairs. That was another memory from last night, a part of the whole, that she hadn't remembered until now.

The man cast his eyes around the room. "I was to report back to King Jareth after speaking with everyone at the library." He proceeded to tell her how he spent his days typically in the lower levels, but had ventured out for the ball (and wasn't it a grand affair?). After last night's events though, he had been instructed to find out what he could about Elias Brown and then come to the king. "I suppose I could wait until he returns."

Sarah stepped down off the couch. For the life of her she could not think of a reason why the king would want to make an appearance here, in another man's home. Even for Jareth that seemed like a bit of a stretch. "Should we be expecting his majesty?" she asked, confused.

"Well, he does live here," replied Broden.

Sarah froze. Casting her eyes around she took in the tiny sitting area and kitchen; she thought about the sparse clothing choices; the lack of mementos and personal items. There was just enough to be convincing, someone did indeed live here, but there was nothing substantial.

"No," she said with a scoff.

Broden assured her that this was where his majesty currently resided in the Above.

Her eyes went wide and she felt the burning sensation in her middle. She swallowed. If what Broden was saying was true then that would mean…Monty…Jareth…She blinked back a collection of black dots. Slowly she sat down, ending up on the floor.

"Sarah Williams?" came the spriggan's voice. "Are you alright?"

She rubbed her face and thumped a fist against the side of the couch. The one person she never suspected. The one person who stood by her side. The one person who had a mixed policy on honesty, who knew too much about lore, who said to trust him. She hit the couch again. "Broden," she snapped and the little man started. "Give me your report and I'll pass it on."

"Very well Sarah Williams," agreed Broden with a hint of reluctance. "You are marked by the king; I suppose trusting you would be well. We all agree that Elias Brown's scent changed just prior to you coming to work at the library. I am of the opinion that he is a clay man. Are you sure I shouldn't wait for his majesty?" he then asked.

Sarah realized she probably looked as if she could spit daggers. "Elias Brown is a clay man," she repeated with a nod. "And King Jareth lives here. Got it." As the spriggan turned to leave, she remembered something, "Hey under the cabinet is a little pouch- get it for me. Please."

As Broden crawled back under the cabinet, Sarah recalled how Monty had kicked it out of the way with his foot. As Jareth, he had frequently bargained with her: remove your salt, and I'll fill-in-the-blank. It had been an effective measure to take around him. She had never worn her pouch around Monty prior to recent events.

Monty. Jareth. It was hard to think of them as the same person. Monty was so tender and practical; brash yet patient. He had a job and worked for a pay check; he ate Thai food and loved coffee. He used prudence when it came to sex, but said he loved her. Jareth. She rubbed her face again. Oh frick, Jareth was the opposite and with an arsenal of magic that he could use against her. He told her she belonged to him; that she would come to him willingly.

Broden handed her the pouch. "Sea salt," he commented.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah. I don't want to be taken advantage of."

"His majesty won't allow that," he said with confidence. "You're under his protection. If it hadn't have been for his quick actions last night, things would be very different this morning." With a smile he then said, "Well I should be getting along. My books aren't going to guard themselves."

He turned to crawl back under the cabinet, but Sarah said, "Broden wait! Are you one of his majesty's subjects? It's just, you speak about him with respect."

"No, I do not live under his direct rule. I am a guard of sorts, sent to protect some powerful books by order of our high father King Oberon. But I know a goblin or two, and they adore their king. Messy lot they are, but loyal."

"Mostly harmless?"

"I didn't say that." After some consideration he added, "I do hope the king is well and that the clay man is being detained." And he crawled back under the cabinet.

Sarah thought for certain that after a few moments she would begin crying hysterically and utter dejection was only a few dirty tissues away. Instead, she sat there on the floor, dry eyed, and calm. Calm was probably an over simplification of her exact state: she felt warm, as if a switch had been turned on around her navel, and she felt in control of that warmth. She got up off the floor.

Slowly she turned taking in the sitting area and began to move through the kitchen. On the counter was the french press and two empty cups; on the small burner a kettle. She opened one of the cabinets: plates, bowls, and cups, enough for two. She opened another and another. No cooking utensils. No spices. Nothing domestic. The contents of the refrigerator were equally sparse. Hadn't he once told her that he was a bachelor without much? He hadn't been exaggerating; he had actually spoken the truth. As a magical king, you probably don't require much in the way of cookery, she thought closing the fridge.

She moved into the small bedroom. There were enough clothes for someone who had no intention of staying long. She glanced under the bed wondering if she'd find a stash of crystal balls.

"Alright," she said quietly. "Why? Why go to so much trouble in disguise to help me understand the contract and how both of us were bound to it? Why not just tell me?"

Something the spriggan said came back to her; something about last night. Sarah closed her eyes and concentrated. One of her last clear memories was going up the stairs at the library with Elias Brown. And then… then everything went wonky. There was darkness and the sound of wings.

She had assumed that because she had woken up in Monty's apartment that he had been the one to save her. But the spriggan said it was Jareth's quick actions that had saved her. Sarah let out a bent up breath. They were the same man. Jareth had saved her last night. Which also meant she had done some very foolish and very willing things with the king.

The sound of the door unlocking brought her back to the present. He was back. For a moment panic welled up inside her. Then the warmth in her center made its self known again. It was strangely comforting and familiar, as if she knew what it was and that it could be put to use. She forced it from her center and felt it works its way up into her chest. He called her name, asking if she were decent.

She peeked around the edge of the door frame. He was at the counter setting out several wrapped breakfast sandwiches and then popping the lids on two to-go coffee cups. He looked just like the man who had left this morning. Even the bizarre outline around his body was still there. Turning to look at her, he quirked an eye brow and smiled. "Now that's a look I could get used to coming home to," he commented.

Sarah bit down on the inside of her lip, trying not to smile back. She was still in her underwear and a tshirt. When he held out her bag of clothes she quickly took it and ducked back into the bedroom.

Did she want to know the absolute truth? Or did she just want to let things play out? She buttoned her jeans. She loved the man she had come to know with a desperation that she had not expected. But she could not say she loved the king. How could she? He had lied to her, and Sarah's firm line on telling the truth had been crossed. Yet he had also saved her last night. _Love you too_ , he had said this morning. How much of him was the fantastical king he put on display verses the simple man who repaired books? Was there anything genuine there?

Back out in the kitchen she accepted the coffee and picked at the sandwich. "So," she began to say, half a plan forming as she spoke. "I kind of have a crazy idea. See I have this nagging suspicion that the king had a hand in what happened last night."

"You don't think he sent the clay man do you?"

"No. No not at all. But I have this faint recollection of hearing the flapping of wings last night. The king he can some times be an owl. It's part of some of those finer details I never got around to telling you." She paused and chewed a bite of sandwich, trying to gauge his expression: he simply took a drink of coffee to help wash down a bite of his own food.

"So what's the crazy part?" he then asked.

"Call him here," she said. "Here, right now with both of us present. I'd feel safer with you around and with all of your knowledge, I mean you would be able to know if he was bluffing about something." As she spoke she had walked back to the couch. The warmth in her center had fluctuated causing her knees to grow week, so she sat down. She wished she fully grasped what the warmth meant. She glanced over at him standing by the sink. He stood partially turned away from her, the color around him intensifying to a near glow. She watched as it pulsed and slowly grew dim again. "Don't you think it would be a good idea?" she pressed.

The glow increased slightly. "I'm not sure," he answered.

He's nervous, she thought. I'm seeing his glamour! This realization that she was seeing his magic was both intriguing and terrifying. He had lied to her! This was Jareth! "Don't make me say it," she heard herself say.

He wouldn't look at her.

"Fine," she said with resolve. She took a deep breath, "Jareth I wish to speak to you."

When the man known as Monty didn't disappear or melt away, she held onto the slightest hope that she had been mistaken. He could be a fae of a different sort, which would explain the strange aura she saw around him. But then he sighed. It was a sound that spoke volumes: exhaustion, resolve, uncertainty. Sarah had never heard such a heavy sigh. Then he turned around and looked at her with mismatched eyes: one blue, one green.

"How could you?" she asked tersely. She was surprised she hadn't yelled it at him.

Jareth folded his arms. "Finer details I never told you about,"he replied with a hint of mocking. "Come Sarah, never once did you stop and think, question who I might be in our little drama?"

"I never suspected you," she replied. "I thought you were the most warm, genuine person." She scoffed. "Guess I was wrong. Well, now that I've made a complete fool of myself, what with the kissing and the confessions of love, I guess I should get going." Head held high she stood up and moved to the bedroom to retrieve her bag. She could feel his eyes following her.

From the kitchen she heard him speak, "I'd like to say something in my defense."

"Whatever," she snapped.

Jareth was in the door way. "You never would have given me the chance had I stayed the king. You wanted a villain, I played the villain. You wanted someone to blame, I took it."

"Don't you dare blame me for your choice," she retorted giving the bag a shake in his direction. She felt the delayed anger rising. "You gave me no good reason to trust you! I get caught up in some half-cocked contract thanks to you and my stepmother, I run some crazy maze that I don't even remember for some two years, only to then learn I'm to go back to the same weird place when I turn eighteen-,"

"I left that decision up to your father-,"

"All the while you make lewd threats, trick me in to a relationship, and lie about who you are, but oh, golly, yes, it's all my fault!"

"No tricks," he denied. "I stumbled into this relationship just as much as you did."

"I don't believe you! You created a whole persona, you tricked me!"

"You wanted to be around me as long as I was Monty, as long as I was human. And I couldn't get enough of it all. You," he paused, his breath coming sharp. "You- stubborn, bookish, innocent, and beautiful- I wanted you!"

"You lied to me," she said her voice ice.

As in the time before in the library, when he had suddenly turned fast and exploded in a fury of emotion, Jareth moved from the door way to where she stood, and had her pinned against him. The suddenness stunned her. "No," he said, his tone some where between dark and menacing. "I never lied." Jareth kissed her, straining and rigid. He drew back, "I meant every caress, every tender glance. Every kiss." His mouth was over her's again.

Sarah managed to struggle. It was all so confusing: her body wanted him, was nearly demanding him against all better judgement, but her mind reeled and stumbled over the idea. He smelled familiar, tasted familiar, and his hands went over her body in familiar strokes. She knew this and also knew she could do the same to him. So she kissed back , matching each aggressive gesture, and forceful motion; not giving up an inch of control. All the sensual memories from their earlier encounter came rushing back.

When he pushed her on the bed, she pushed back to pin him under her. For one forgetful moment there was a real prospect of pleasure, of giving in to the sensations. Sarah was over his face, lingering over a kiss, when she looked into his eyes. They were so close to Monty's eyes. With a growl, she punched the bed next to his head. "What am I doing?" she exclaimed frustrated with herself. She moved away from him. "Stupid," she mumbled to herself, unsure if she meant him or her.

She needed to leave. To put as much distance between them as possible so she could think. She slid off the bed.

"You and your brother are in danger," Jareth said from where he lay.

"Do not drag him into this," she said picking up her bag again.

Jareth took a deep breath. "The clay man last night was sent by a witch." When she paused at the door he continued, "Evidence suggests that Karen is behind it."

Sarah let out an ugh. "If you had just-,"

Jareth interrupted, "Stop rehashing what should have happened! It's done."

"You don't get to tell me what to do," she replied. "You of all people do not get a say in what I do or think or anything else!"

For a moment there was silence. Sarah wanted to hate him. But if he had saved her, if her brother was in any kind of danger. "I don't understand," she admitted. "If the clay man was after me, how does that put Toby in danger?" She looked back at him to find him sitting up, hair disheveled and lips parted.

"Tampering with the contract's payment puts the rendered goods in danger," he explained."At best, that is the least worst case scenario I can come up with."

Payment. Rendered goods. These terms caused her anger to burn all over again. How she wanted Monty's arms, his comforting embrace. He would help make sense of it all. Instead she had this twisted version of him, this king of goblins with his contracts and foreign laws.

Jareth spoke again, "I don't want either of you to get hurt. Especially you."

"Really?" she snapped. "You don't want me to get hurt? Then explain all this Jareth! Explain how in your mind you thought this deception wouldn't hurt me! You should have stayed away."

"I tried! I left for nearly a month Sarah. I tried to listen to my own better judgement and failed."

"Why start it up at all?"

"Like I said, you didn't want to talk to me- king and keeper of your contract." He moved to the edge of the bed. "You had changed, grown up even more. You were no longer the naive thing that had run my Labyrinth. No. You had grown into this." He raised a hand in her direction and a wistful smile came across his face as he gazed at her. "Monty Jones was a way to get to know you. A way to be near should there be trouble."

Sarah rubbed a hand across her face. "So how do I find out if Toby is in actual danger? If last night was Karen's doing?" she asked.

"I suppose speaking with your father would be the best place to start," he said. "Sarah, I," he paused. "Never mind. Yes, we should ask your father how the boy has been."

"We?"

"Of course. He's under my protection as well."

Sarah realized that after everything she had told her father this morning, she was going to have to get her anger under control. She had no intention of acting overly familiar with Jareth and she told him so, but they had to be civil. Her poor father was being put through the wringer. "Though, we will use my policy on honesty," she told him.

 _Author's Notes: I know this wasn't terribly long and I do apologize for that. Normally I keep most personal matters off here, but I had some health things come up and that prevented me from writing much. I had a nasty case of BVVP- causes vertigo and dizzy spells. I couldn't sit up straight to save my life. Writing was out of the question. But I managed to get this bit done, enough so you all know that this story isn't dead, it just had to take a back burner to other life problems._


	15. Chapter 15

As the two of them walked back towards Sarah and her father's apartment, Sarah used the time to consider some elements in light of recent revelations. Her first thoughts were about Jareth's promise that she would come to him willingly, the phrase "like it even" had been used. Considering how close the two of them had come to having sex just this morning, made her feel used and damaged all over again. Paired with the fact that a creature impersonating Elias Brown had also nearly forced himself on her, her self worth was running towards an all time low.

The warmth in her middle stirred at such depressing thoughts. It seemed to buck at her depression and lift her insides.

Of course Jareth had also shown amazing self restraint. She had been ready, had even been the one to initiate, but he had stopped. She wondered about that. He had in a sense had her exactly where he had always wanted her and saw fit to remind her about her age and consequences for being with someone under age. If she were being fair and honest she appreciated the gesture. Sarah suspected there was more to it than the simple man made law. There was always more. And fae had their set of laws to adhere to as well.

She eyed him walking next to her. He looked for all the world like an ordinary man, out for a walk in the brisk afternoon air with his girl by his side.

She forced her thoughts to consider the clay man, the witch Karen, and how both elements affected her family. Toby had indeed been absent more than usual as of late. He had missed several weekends. When she first saw the large manilla envelope with the lawyer's return address, she had assumed that it had something to do with finances. Her stepmother, her father's ex, was always one who liked to live well and would have no qualms bleeding her father dry financially, claiming the need for extra child support. But what if it had been more than that. What if Karen was putting forward a motion for full custody? That would break her father.

That theory did not explain the clay man though. For all Sarah knew Karen had accomplished exactly what she had set out to do, her end of the bargain was complete. She had a son. Though it had cost her her marriage, and perhaps with that her pride. There had been some speculation that she had chosen Robert because he provided a daughter for the payment; what if he had also fulfilled a role for Karen's life style? Loosing her husband, who had been for a tool for monetary gain, could be the root of the current problem.

She eyed Jareth again. Had he embarrassed her? Threatened her? Witches typically belong to covens- had there been a fall out there as well? For the first time since learning the truth about the contract, Sarah began to grasp why her father had stayed well out of his ex-wife's magical affairs: too messy.

About as messy as fae affairs, she mused sardonically.

They were ascending the stairs to the apartment door. "Hold on," Sarah said as they reached the landing. "I know I said we would use my policy on honesty, but I have a few caveats I would like to mention now."

Jareth seemed amused. "Go on," he said.

"It would not be right for my father to suddenly be made aware of your true identity. You so much as blink magic in his direction and I swear I will throw salt in your face."

"I don't doubt you," he agreed.

"We will still be honest though in so much as I will tell him that you know about the contract and as Monty Jones you have been helping me." Satisfied she turned to unlock the door.

At her shoulder he said, "I have a stipulation."

"Really?" she asked flatly. Was there no end to his confidence?

He continued, "That you concede that not once, but twice I did the noble thing regarding your honor, and at least make the effort for appearance's sake that we are still in a relationship." His pause was just enough for him to nod at the wisdom in his own words. He continued, "I respect your father too much to do any heavy petting in front of him, but I think hand holding will suffice."

Not wanting to get agitated before seeing her father Sarah let out a dramatic sigh, the sort she used to use frequently when faced with an unfair situation. The feel of his fingers intertwining with her's brought with it the solidarity she was used to feeling when he had been Monty, the notion that they were in this together- hang the universe! Her palm warmed against his. She opened the door.

The fact that the apartment was messy should have made her uneasy. She excused the disheveled couch and dirty dishes as signs that her father had spent a restless night worrying about her whereabouts. Even a man who's cleanliness bordered on meticulous had his off days. The sight of him in rumbled sweats and unshaven face brought back the sting of guilt she had felt earlier for making him worry. "Dad!" she exclaimed as he reached for her and embraced her. It felt so refreshing to be held by someone with no ulterior motive, who wanted her contract broken as much as she did. But who also had no desire to do anything that might jeopardize Toby.

"Thank heavens you're safe," Robert said. "I feared the worst all night."

"I'm alright," she assured him. "Still a bit shaken, but alright."

He hugged her fiercely for another minute. "I'm glad you're home now," he said stepping back. "And who is this?" he then asked looking over her shoulder.

Sarah turned. She saw Jareth, with his unsettling eyes and that strange glow of an aura around his person and thought for a moment that his true identity was visible to her father. Her hand went to her pocket, searching for her pouch of salt.

Jareth stuck his hand out before she could do anything. "Monty Jones, Mr. Williams," he said.

"The man I owe a wealth of gratitude to," Robert said and shook the offered hand. "And it's Robert." His other arm went around Sarah's shoulders. "My little girl means the world to me, I cannot thank you enough for being there for her."

Sarah forced a small smile. "Dad, can we all talk for a bit?"

"Sure, honey. Come on over and sit down. Excuse the mess," Robert said straightening the room. He picked up some old newspapers and gathered a few empty glasses. "I haven't had a mind for house keeping as of late." He moved everything to the kitchen table.

Sarah glanced at Jareth: he seemed absorbed in watching her father's movements. When he sat next to her on the couch, she angled her legs away so they wouldn't be touching.

Her father brought one of the table chairs over so they could all face each other. "So what did you want to talk about? Oh, anyone need a drink?" Robert asked.

"No, dad, we're good. Please, sit down," Sarah said. Now that it was time to tell him, she felt anxious. She wondered briefly if she should just lay everything out, including who Monty really was. The warmth in her middle blossomed, enveloping her entire torso and chest, and she calmed. Start slow, she told herself, just the basics. "Dad, Monty has done more than just helping me last night. He knows all about the contract on my life and has been helping me do research."

After a beat Robert glanced at Jareth and then said, "You told him?"

"It just happened," she started to explain.

"Sarah, you should have talked with me first," her father interrupted.

Sarah grimaced. "I needed someone to confide in,"

"You mean he knows everything?" her father pressed.

"If I may," interjected Jareth. His hand reached for Sarah's. "Robert, she told me a good deal- the king, the contract, the witch- and I believe all of it. I really do."

Robert looked uncomfortable.

"Dad, we've been researching ways to break the contract," said Sarah.

"And information to help us understand the fae," added Jareth.

"The point is, is that we've been helping each other," said Sarah. She shifted in her seat. "Now there are some things about last night that we need to tell you, and you're probably not going to like any of it. But hear us out, okay? There's a man named, Elias Brown."

Sarah took her father through the events that began the day she hurt her wrist. Jareth let her speak without interruption, and Sarah grew confident in her desire to include her father in the recent events. There was a healing sort of pain to it all for though she knew she was hurting him with more bad news, there was comfort in communicating with him.

"So this all leads up to a suspicion we have about Karen," said Sarah drawing to the end of the account.

Robert rubbed his unshaven chin. "Do you think she had something to do with the- what did you call it?- the clay man?"

"Before we answer that," said Jareth. "I have to ask how has Toby been lately?"

"Toby?" Robert questioned.

"Yes," said Jareth. "The boy, he has been absent as of late has he not?"

Robert blew air out. He nodded and then without another word he got up and wandered down the hall. Sarah opened her mouth to call after him, but Jareth squeezed her hand. When they heard the bedroom door open and shut, he turned towards her.

"How long has your father been like this?" he asked.

"What do you mean? He had a rough night."

"Were we looking at the same man?" he asked his brow creasing.

Sarah glanced towards the hall. "He looks tired and he needs a shave, but," she shrugged. "He looks like my dad."

Jareth considered something for a moment. "When he comes back, use the warmth in your center to really look at him," he told her.

Now how did he know about that new sensation? Sarah started to ask, but was shushed at the sound of the door reopening. She felt within herself, found the new feeling, and tried to pull the warmth up towards her head. Sarah willed it to her eyes as her father returned to the living room. The man she saw this time wasn't just wrinkled and unkempt, but was sickly with sunken eyes and hallow cheeks. There was a frailness to him, as one who had been battling a long term virus or had cancer.

The shock of seeing her father so different in a matter of moments was great. She felt the color drain from her face. Next to her Jareth moved, easing an arm around her shoulders. Part of her brain insisted she move away, while her heart accepted the gentle gesture with gratitude.

Robert had a large manilla envelope in his hands. "With everything going on with you, I didn't want to burden you with this as well. Toby has been scarce. A few times he has been sick, but more often than not his mother makes excuses. This." He held up the envelope. "Is a request to change my visitation rights. She claims that our current arrangement is disruptive to his routine and is effecting his over all health." Robert paused and seemed to sway a little. "It's all so tiring."

Stunned, Sarah did not know how to react. She sat there on the couch as Jareth removed his arm from around her and stood up. He took the envelope from Robert and laying a hand on his shoulder, said, "Robert, go lie down." Without a word her dad turned and went back to his room.

The sound of the door clicking finally shook Sarah from her stupor. "Jareth, what is going on here? What is wrong with my father? He, he wasn't like that before!"

"I'd wager he's been like that for a while. You just couldn't see it." Tucking the envelope under his arm he moved into the kitchen.

Sarah stood up. "Jareth!" she hissed. "What is going on? I'm seeing through your glamour and apparently there has been glamour used on my dad," she paused in confusion: Jareth was opening and closing cabinets. "What are you doing?"

He ignored her and continued to rummage about. He reached up high, feeling along the edge of the refrigerator. He even opened the blinds over the small kitchen window and examined the ledge. "I thought for certain," he murmured to himself and then returned to the living room. "Your father is under the influence of dark magic- his health, his mental state, probably even his bank account. Something is draining him." He snapped his fingers at the couch and said, "Reveal." Nothing happened.

"Karen," breathed Sarah.

"It smacks of witchcraft," he agreed. "I thought for certain I would find a hex bag in a common room. When would you say you noticed your father becoming more lethargic, less social?"

Sarah's tired brain was on overload. She really had to think about it. "I would say it was around the same time I met Elias Brown. Yeah. I noticed that Toby had missed two weekends and my dad, he took it weirdly."

"Had Karen been over?"

"If she had he never told me." She recalled those days at the library: missing Monty Jones, fixing books, and trying to sort out her own problems. That had been a lonely month. She had been worried for her family's well fare, but had also felt trapped. "I was a little preoccupied."

Jareth folded his arms. "Spending most of your time at the library," he commented. "Reading Rossetti." His tone was almost fond.

"It's odd, but that seems a long time ago," observed Sarah. Though in truth it had only been a matter of weeks.

She saw him move towards her and reach out to hold her. She could smell sandalwood, a scent that was becoming familiar. She shied away. "Don't," she told him. "I don't want your affection."

Jareth lowered his arms.

"I want your help and that's all," she said. "Help me make sure both my brother and my dad are safe, and I will stop fighting the contract."

"This is not what I meant by 'come willingly'," he interjected.

"Regardless of what you meant, this is where we are. If coming with you, if fulfilling the contract stops all this madness than take me now, I'll go."

He seemed to consider her words. "Coming with me now will not stop the witch. It'll fulfill the contract and satisfy the Imbalance, but as long the witch, Karen, as long as she lives your father and just as likely your brother will continue to be at her mercy. As Monty Jones I asked you to trust me," he continued. "Can you trust me, Jareth Choblyn King of the Goblins?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"For now, stay here. Get some rest. I need to do some consulting if we're going to handle this correctly."

Sarah nodded.

 _Author's Notes: thank you all for the well wishes. I am doing much, much better. I am actually now preparing to go to New York at the end of May and ::squee:: I get to see the David Bowie Is exhibit. But I shall endeavor to get this all done._


	16. Chapter 16

_I_

Sarah dreamed about the hedges again, the same ones she had dreamed about right before meeting Monty. This time she knew she was in the confines of the Labyrinth; its twists and turns, dead ends and false starts, were less frightening. Neither strange fetus like creature nor goblin nor spriggan appeared as she wandered. She was alone with the massive maze.

Eventually the hedges opened onto a paved clearing. In one corner there was a large sun dial. Odd statues hewn from rock resembled soldiers and others that were large tomes. A collection of such books were leaned and stacked together in such a way making a giant chair. Laid across the seat was the shimmering ball gown she had worn to dance with the king all the years ago. It was still all moon beams and spun sugar, a gown made for a fairy tale princess.

One moment she stood admiring it, the next she found herself perched on the edge of the makeshift chair wearing the gown. It felt tighter and more restrictive than she remembered, her rib cage was confined and her breasts felt as if they were going to pop out. She had just come to terms with being in the fancy dress again when she felt her layers of skirt rustle and move. A hand that could have belonged to a goblin shot out from underneath and presented her with a telephone. She worked the cord lose and brought the receiver up to her ear.

"Everything's changing," sighed a voice.

It sounded like Jareth.

"Isn't that a good thing?" she asked.

"Is it?" he returned. A huff of breath. "I want you in this dress, in my arms; dancing and gazing at me as if nothing else in the world mattered."

For some reason Sarah felt the sting of tears in her eyes. "The universe would never allow for us to be that easy," she said. "Besides, I'd rather be an orchard than a single fruit tree."

Sarah stirred in her sleep, the dream leaving her. Her blankets and sheets had been pushed down to the end of the bed and she lay in her pajama pants and tank top slightly chilled. She had dreamed about fruit trees and orchards before. In the previous one Jareth had been explaining aspects of the Great Imbalance: yin and yang, drought and deluge; kneading dough and seeds planting themselves. The universe working to make us better versions of ourselves, she remembered. "I'd rather be an orchard," she murmured into the dark, a sense of understanding coming over her.

"Personally I like you the way you are," said a voice in the far corner of her room.

Sarah reached for her bed side lamp. "Jareth?" she called out, clicking the switch.

He stood next to her closet. Gone was the bulky wool sweater, instead he wore a dark tunic. His hair was still messy, falling over his eyes, yet it was longer. Sarah noted that his aura was gone.

It was hard to gauge how to react to him in her room, in her private space. It had been such a Monty way of saying 'hello-I'm-here.' It was going to take a while to reconcile the two men. She sat up on the bed. "You're not using any glamour right now, are you?" she asked peering at him.

Jareth tilted his head. "No," he answered. "No sense in hiding my true self at the moment."

"I can tell. I mean, there's a difference I can actually see. Would this have anything to do with the warm sensation in my middle?"

"Probably," he answered carefully. He moved towards the bed.

"Probably? Well, that definitely means yes," she said crossing her legs. "Can we drop the whole mysterious and aloof act please? I'd like some straight answers."

"I am not accustomed to people questioning my motives or being in the company of inquiring minds," he responded and then added, "Goblins are hardly intellectuals."

"Well, I'm not a goblin," she returned pointedly. "As you well know."

Jareth smiled and eyed her appreciatively. "Alright princess," he conceded. "I will strive to explain. The peach you took a bite of, when you were in my labyrinth, it finally finished germinating. Goblin fruit can have various reactions with different people. The most immediate is like what Rossetti described- a person wasting away all the while craving more. Then there are others who for some reason are far slower to digest and absorb the fruit and the magic it contains."

"But I saw your hallucination," she reminded him. "Within moments of taking a bite, I was under the influence."

Sarah realized it was the first time the finer details she had been avoiding talking about- the dance, their reactions to each other, the temptation- were mentioned. She also realized Jareth had sat down on the end of her bed. He stifled a yawn. Sarah figured he had probably been up all night doing his consulting, trying to help.

Jareth continued, "The juice was enough to guarantee you would participate in the enchantment. The flesh though took longer to work its way into your system. I suspected that the other night with Brown you would more than likely snap and come into an awareness."

Which means he also knew that his glamour was going to stop being effective, thought Sarah. It had been a gamble for him to use the fruit, he had no idea how she would react. But the contract, she thought, the contract needed payment, and he was willing to try anything to get me to stay and to keep me safe. Now that her body was aware was she going to begin craving more of the fruit? Was she going to begin going mad until she returned to the Underground? Too many questions and not enough answers. She was abruptly pulled from her thoughts by Jareth moving and stretching out on her bed.

"Hey!" she exclaimed as he angled her pillow.

"I just want to rest my eyes," he assured her waving a hand dismissively. "Ten minutes."

After a brief pause where he got comfortable, she asked, "Will I have powers?"

He peered at her from half closed lids. "In time, perhaps. That's an honest answer." And his eyes closed.

Sarah glanced at her alarm clock- it was four o'clock in the morning. She had been asleep for over ten hours, having crashed not that long after Jareth had left her. Her body felt better, her mind clearer, yet she still felt as if she could sleep another twenty-four hours. The persistent stress, the ever evolving problems, the rippling out of the contract was wearing her out.

For a moment she sat there, watching his head lull to the side, relaxing further into sleep, and slowly she shook her head. "You crazy fae," she called him softly. "You really were just doing your job. Albeit a crazy, weird job, but yours to do no less. I need your help and I know I will have to come with you, but I," she paused suddenly very much aware that she was whispering out loud. "I no longer know how I feel about you."

Deciding that more rest was best and that they could discuss the witch in the morning, she lay down next to him. She slept deeper than she had intended, warm and comfortable with no more dreams. She stirred only to find herself spooned from behind by Jareth and a soft light coming through her curtains.

His arm around her middle tightened. "Just be still with me," he whispered his voice groggy.

This is what it feels like to wake up in his arms, she thought drowsily. She eyed him over her shoulder. "I don't think my father would appreciate me having male visitors in my room," she said coyly.

She felt his chest move in a chuckle. "He's still asleep," he told her. "He needs the rest."

"Is he going to be okay?" she then asked.

Jareth took a deep breath. "I'm working on it," he replied. "We're dealing with a completely different type of magic. Well, for starters we draw our power from two completely different sources," he explained when she asked how that was. "For a fae, it is a natural thing, derived from the energies around us and nature. A witch must ask for the power from a source- it is not their own. Typically they ask for it from demons or other such astral beings."

Sarah thought about everything for a moment. "We're going to have to kill her, aren't we?" she asked. It was a question she didn't even know she was going to ask, a conclusion she hadn't even considered. As long as Karen lived though, her family was going to be in danger.

Jareth rolled away from her, at least as much as he could considering her small bed. She heard him sigh. "Let's not consider killing people before breakfast," he said.

The cool air coming between them should have prodded Sarah to get up and put some distance between their bodies. Instead she shifted so she could look at him. Her grave expression must have told him something, for he said, "I know you would do anything to keep your brother and father safe. You're so stubborn. It is one of the things I admire about you."

 _II_

In his own room Robert woke up. He was still in his clothes from yesterday (or had they been from the past two days?). He couldn't recall when he had gone to bed nor for that matter exactly how long he had been asleep, he just knew he felt the most refreshed he had in some weeks. There was a faint recollection in the back of his mind of having had insomnia as of late and an over all feeling of being drained.

He sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Through the thin walls of the apartment he heard Sarah talking to someone. That's right, Monty Jones had come over yesterday. It was nice to finally meet the young man. After all Sarah had been spending a good deal of time with him. And, Robert paused the thought, and he knew what Robert had done. His mind cleared and he recalled the conversation the three of them had had in the living room yesterday.

Karen.

His daughter and Monty suspected his ex-wife of trying to hurt his family. She had been refusing Toby's visits and apparently had sent something called a clay man after his daughter. As Robert considered this the more it occurred to him that this was exactly the sort of thing Karen would do. She knew how to manipulate, how to control, and her special skills had always ensured she got what she wanted. There had been numerous times when they had been having a disagreement, usually over an expensive purchase, that Robert would quite suddenly loose track of time and find himself complimenting her purchase. The odd part, aside from the lapse in memory, would be his complete lack of agitation over the situation. He would be calm and accepting.

Then there had been the promotions at work. If Karen met with his boss, a manager, or an executive, his name would suddenly be on their lips and he would of interest to them. Promotions, pay raises, bonuses- these would be at his disposal.

Then there had been everything she had done to Sarah.

Robert hung his head as he heard her voice again, high and teasing at something amusing. He loved hearing her laugh. There was a time when it had reminded far too much of he rmother, Linda, and it had grated him. Now, living with her in such close quarters, now it made him smile to hear her happy. Wait, he thought, is Monty in her room? His initial reaction was one of disapproval- no boyfriends were allowed to spend the night, especially in her room. Then he heard her laugh and tell Monty to be quiet. His little girl was in a relationship. She was living. She was doing exactly what he had encouraged her to do.

Smiling he moved from his room to the hall bathroom deciding to let her have her fun for a little bit longer.

 _III_

When, after several admonishments, Jareth had not made the effort to get out of her room Sarah had thrown a wash cloth at him and demanded he get moving. She respected her father too much to break his house rules outright. This assault resulted in Jareth making a sudden leap for the bathroom door causing her to laugh out loud; covering her mouth at the outburst, praying that her father had not heard.

Coming out from the bathroom again she found her room empty and heard movement in the hallway. Her father was up and heading towards the kitchen. She followed. "Monty's cleaning up his sleep stuff," Robert said as he filled the coffee pot. He raised his eye brows, but didn't make any further comment.

Sarah checked around the partition and found Jareth folding a blanket. There was an extra pillow on the couch. She cleared her throat. "Yeah, he wanted to make sure we were safe," she said to her father. To avoid any awkward silence, she asked, "How are you doing? Did you sleep?"

"I did," Robert answered. The coffee pot began to sputter and brew. "Actually it felt like the best sleep I had in ages. I didn't realize how exhausted I was. So, he really does believe everything?" he asked her, nodding his head towards the living room.

"I know it seems weird to meet someone who believes in witches and fairies, but he really does. And he wants to help."

Jareth walked in wearing a long sleeve black shirt and jeans looking rumpled and drowsy, as if he had spent the night on the couch. "Good morning," he greeted both of them. For a moment he looked ready to lean in and kiss Sarah, but opted to squeeze her about the waist instead. "I did some thinking last night about the situation," he said accepting a mug of coffee from Robert. "Have either of you considered asking the king for help?"

Sarah choked on her coffee. She waved her father away, assuring him she was alright. She wanted to hear where Jareth was going with this idea.

Robert's brow creased and he looked questioningly at Jareth. "Monty, what exactly are you suggesting? We're in this mess because of him," he stated as if asking for help from the king was asking for help from the enemy.

Jareth took a long sip of coffee. "I thought it was your ex-wife that made the contract?" he asked in return.

Robert drew back at bit, his frown faltering. "Well, yes, she was the one to make the contract, but he agreed to it. That makes him just as responsible."

Sarah interjected before things could get heated. "You know, dad, during our research, Monty and I came across some interesting theories about why fae take children." She gave Jareth a pointed look. "It's possible he can't break the contract."

"And how does this all effect Toby?" asked Robert.

"If your ex is tampering with any part of the contract- the boy's safety or hindering the payment," said Jareth carefully. "then I would think that the king would be most interested in knowing."

"It might be worth it," encouraged Sarah. "To explore all of our options."

Robert looked down at his mug of coffee and seemed to consider this proposal. With some reluctance he then asked, "How would one go about asking for the king's help?"

It was Jareth's turn to give Sarah a pointed look. "Sarah," he prompted when she hesitated.

Sarah briefly closed her eyes. She would have to hold to her policy on honesty or she would never hear the end of it. "I can call him here," she said.

Her father's eyes narrowed and his brow drew together again, dark and intense. "You can? This is something you've done before?" he pressed.

"Yes," she answered. "I have."

Robert shook his head. His cheeks flushed.

Sarah braced herself for the disapproval.

For a moment her father just breathed sharply, nostrils flared and lips thin. "Fine," he finally said. "We will call him here and ask for help. Together."

A short while later Sarah walked Jareth out the front door. The air was cold and it bit at her skin as she stood outside. She wanted to ask what he was about, how he thought showing up as the king would be beneficial, and what exactly could he do to help. Jareth leaned on the railing that surrounded the landing and breathed deep of the brisk air. He commented that the weather was changing. "It's going to snow at least one more time," he said with a nod. "And then things will warm up."

Sarah was reminded of her dream. "Is change good?" she asked out loud.

"Yes," he answered after a beat. "As long as we change for the better."

Sarah went up to him and hugged him about his middle. He stiffened and went still. One moment she was telling him she didn't want his affection, the next she was lying next to him in bed. Just who was this man? And just how did she feel about him? He owned her contract, but wanted to help keep her brother safe. She stepped away. "I'll call you soon," she said and turned and went back inside the apartment.


	17. Chapter 17

Calling Jareth back as the king was going to be interesting. If she had come to understand anything about about his character it was his love of the dramatics. She had a feeling that she was going to have to bite her tongue when he arrived.

And her father, well, her father probably harbored some deep hatred for the king. Nor could she blame him for feeling that way. With the limited knowledge he had, he held Jareth responsible not only for the contract, but her being the payment.

Inside her dad was cleaning up the breakfast dishes in the sink. Sarah pulled the warmth up from her middle and looked at him closely: he still looked frail and thin, but his movements were no longer lethargic. She had threatened Jareth with pain of salt if he had attempted any magic; it would seem though that he had probably used a sleep aid on her father. She couldn't begrudge the aid even if she had wanted to. Her father looked better for it.

Her father dried his hands on the dish towel. "Alright then, the place is tidied up a bit," said Robert. "I suppose its good enough for his majesty. How many times have you called him?"

Sarah told him it had been a couple of times; that she had wanted to understand the contract and also stand up to him. "I told him I didn't want to go," she told him.

"He could have hurt you," chided Robert.

Sarah thought back to her time in the labyrinth and the moments when Jareth had, by all appearances, threatened her: there had been the Cleaners, being dropped down a chute to the Bog of Eternal Stench, the insane Escher room where basic laws of physics hadn't existed; then there had also been that enchanted peach. Had any harm actually come to her? No. Had he laid a finger on her? No. But each situation had presented danger and the potential for real harm. She couldn't excuse any of them. Even the most recent episodes where he had render her immobile or lied to her about his identity- none of it could be justified by sound reasoning.

Any sound human reasoning, corrected her thoughts. Nothing that has occurred though has happened under the guidance of human reasoning; not a single thing since Karen made her request for a male child. It has all happened in accordance with rules and laws in the realm of the Underground.

Sarah forced herself back to the present. "Well he didn't," she said. "Now we need a cup of cream and a cup of wine. Should probably mix a little honey in the cream," she added moving around him and opening the frig, a feat considering the narrow galley kitchen. "It has to do with appeasing him."

"Appeasing? Him?" questioned her father knocking the honey jar hard against the counter. "He should be appeasing us."

"It's how the fae operate," she told him. She looked at him glaring at the counter. Leaning against the door to the frig she asked gently, "Do you want to do this?"

"I haven't seen nor spoken to him in nearly three years. I," Robert paused. His eyes searched the counter top, searching for unseen answers. "You're the one who has spoken to him more recently- do you think it will be worth it?"

Bottle of coffee creamer in hand Sarah moved to get a glass down from a cabinet. She had no idea what Jareth was going to do. She had to trust that all the promises he had made as Monty Jones had been legitimate and his intentions were indeed to help. "Yes," she answered. "Now about the wine." She retrieved a wine glass and went to open the cabinet above the stove where the cheap stuff had been that she had used before.

Standing in their small living room her father by her side, parental with one arm slightly in front of her, Sarah spoke the words to bring Jareth as the Goblin King to her apartment. "Jareth I need to speak with you." The lights dimmed and there was an unexpected taste of ozone in the air. On the small coffee table the two glasses vibrated ever so gently and then stilled. Next to her Robert shifted another small step in front of her. Sarah knew her father expected danger, anticipated a perverted man who stole children. Even she had to admit that this was an unnerving way to respond to a summons.

The corner near the front door darkened and a shape moved. "Robert, a pleasure to see you again," said Jareth. His voice had taken on a finer lilt of culture and smoothness.

There was a rustling sound of fabric moving. Out of the corner of her eye Sarah saw the edges of the shadow twirl and flap as if an unseen wind had blown them. Was this the impression her father had of Jareth? No wonder he described him as having such predatory intentions.

"And Sarah," Jareth continued. "I always look forward to answering your summons."

Sarah cleared her throat. Her pulse quickened. "Jareth, there's a problem," she said.

"You mean aside from the obvious one of you still being Above?" Jareth prompted.

His face was deep in the gloom, yet Sarah knew he was more than likely smirking.

Robert spoke, "She has five more months, per our agreement."

Sarah touched her father's arm. "The problem is about the witch, Karen," she explained..

Jareth took several steps out of the shadow. In the light she saw him in full regal attire: hard leather armor and high collared cape, the sickle shaped moon gleaming on his chest. Her mind cast her back to that very first night, the night of her wish: the doors of her parent's balcony slamming open, letting the storm and the owl in. Then he had appeared. Midnight and shadow, star light and fairy dust- he had been a dark fantasy; her first temptation. Her treacherous pulse quickened again.

Sarah blinked rapidly clearing the memory.

"What of her?" questioned Jareth. "What she, a daughter of Eve and a witch, chooses to do with her son is of no importance to me."

The twirling shadows drew back towards their center. It was dismissive gesture.

"She's trying to change the contract," exclaimed Robert.

The shadows branched back out again, exploring the walls and the hidden places behind the furniture. "There's that spark of bravery I recall so fondly," mused Jareth. "How do you know she's doing anything?"

"She's… she is stopping me from seeing Toby," said Robert. He took a deep breath. "And more than likely tried to hurt Sarah with a clay man."

There was a crackling of electrical energy. Sarah swore the shadows darkened, bearing down on the small room. She knew it wasn't just a display of power. The tendrils flicked and licked the walls, spawning more darkness in their frenzied state.

Some part of her rationalized that she should be afraid of such an intense display of emotions. That like her father she should shrink back in caution and tremble before the force that was bearing down on them. Part of even quipped that she should tell Jareth to chill out and stop the dramatics. She dismissed these thoughts though.

But then she reasoned, as Monty Jones he had only expressed sympathy and gratefulness for her being unharmed. Human emotions. As the king, he was finally able to express all of his emotions and let the natural energies roll and boil under his influence. He was angry.

She glanced at her father. Under her hand on his arm she felt his muscles quiver. He rallied and spoke again, "I cannot let her harm either one of my children. I need help."

Jareth took his time responding, all the while the pressing shadows retreating once more. When he spoke his voice was strained with the effort, "Robert are you requesting a contract for my aid?"

Sarah pulled on her father's arm in alarm. "No!" she exclaimed. "No more contracts!"

Robert put his hand over hers. "Sarah," she heard him say gently.

She shook her head sharply.

"My daughter," began Robert with a quaver in his voice. "is your payment- surely you want her safe and sound as well?"

Jareth raised his hands and moved them together as if gathering something invisible, compressing the darkness into a manageable sphere, and as he did so the lights brightened. He took several steps near them. His eyes flickered between their two faces. "That I do," he agreed with a nod. "But you need to be more specific in what you are asking of me. What exactly do you want me to do?" he prompted when neither of them spoke.

Robert licked his dry lips. His face had gone a bit ashen again.

Sarah heard herself let out a whine of protest. "This falls under the first and only contract," she insisted.

He looked at his daughter and then the floor. "I need to know if my ex-wife means my children harm; means any conditions of the contract harm."

"Jareth," said Sarah, almost pleadingly. She did not like seeing her father struggling so. Nor did she like the prospect of another contract.

Jareth's eyes lingered on her face before moving back to Robert's. "And if she does?" he asked.

"Then stop her," Sarah snapped. "If you want me safe, if you really want to help, then you'll stop her!"

Hand on his hip Jareth regarded her once more. "This is your father's decision!"

"I am part of this contract-,"

"I want my children safe," interrupted Robert, raising his voice.

Sarah looked at him: it was as if all of the rest he had enjoyed over the previous night was draining from him. She closed her mouth.

"My children," Robert said, his hand moving to his daughter's hand which he gripped tight. "Safe- either here or with you. Using whatever means necessary." He nodded, resolute, though his neck muscles tightened and his lips trembled. "Even another contract."

Silence.

Jareth finally spoke, "There will be no need for another contract. The safety of the boy and the girl are part of the first. Understand," he added raising a finger. "That the conditions remain the same: I granted a male child, I expect my payment."

"Understood," said Robert.

Jareth came near the two of them and as before he laid a hand on Robert's shoulder. "Go to sleep," he ordered and without resistance Robert turned and walked to his bedroom.

Sarah stood where she was, feeling a odd mixture of relief and sadness. She felt a weight that tugged at her middle and battled against the warmth- all her father wanted was his children safe, even if that meant compromising his own health. And Jareth- he had been true to his word, offering his help. She knew he was lingering near.

"I had to appear rough and callused," he said suddenly. "It is how he remembers me. I didn't want to arouse suspicion on his part by appearing any different."

She looked up. Some of the shadows still flickered around him, moving as if they were a cape. Curious she reached out and touched one of the gossamer wisps. It curled and danced around her finger. "Makes me sense," she said distractedly.

His hand appeared near her's and his fingers stroked the tendril, coaxing it to stretch and grow. Mesmerized Sarah watched as it ran the length of her arm, flowing and turning, liquid smooth. She felt it slide around her shoulder. Before she knew it, it had widened and moved around her back. It was cool against her. She felt for certain that if she decided to lean into it, it would embrace her and support her whichever way she chose to move. Looking around she realized that she was completely cocooned with Jareth within the shadows.

"Wow," was all she managed to say in her wonder.

Jareth laughed gently.

She looked at him. The shadows, unlike before when they were boiling in rage, were so soft and and gentle. She was again struck by the sensation of being embraced and safe. She lowered her hand.

"Thank you for not making another contract," she said.

"You are the most important part of the contract," he replied.

The shadows nudged Sarah closer.

He continued, "I told you that I meant everything I said as Monty. Everything," he stressed the word. "You trusted me once, I ask that you trust me again, and break up with Monty Jones."

Sarah's face pinched. "Why?"

"I cannot be two separate men, any more, it is not…convenient nor is it practical. As a fae king I am capable of accomplishing so much more. You need my magic." He paused and caused a tendril to move up and caress her hair. "You told me you don't want my affection."

The warmth in Sarah's middle performed a small backflip. If magic had this much influence and interaction with emotions, she was going to have to get some control over this new sensation. He was being kind and he was being generous, but his deception was too fresh for her to look past it.

Sarah pushed down on the warmth. "I don't believe that you feel guilty at all about what you did; the deception. You might very well be sincere," her voice shook. "But I need time to process what happened. It was just yesterday."

"You forgave your father," he pointed out.

"It's not the same," she replied. "And you know it. We worked through it," she explained after a beat. "He allowed me space and did what he had to do to protect me."

"What do you think I'm doing?" asked Jareth spreading his hands. "I led you to information. I listened to you, offered advice- did everything short of revealing myself to help you understand."

Sarah raised a finger. "Right there," she said pointedly. "Right there, you just said exactly what makes you different from my dad: my dad laid himself bear, all the ugly details and hurtful truth. He did so knowing I could end up hating him. You- you chose to hide. You took gambles, you have genuine feelings, but your motivation is clouded and that's what makes this hard."

At his sides, Jareth snapped his fingers and the protective cocoon broke and vanished. He wouldn't look at her, which in turn she had have seen as a clear signal that she needed to let him leave; put that much needed distance between them. Instead she took another step closer of her own free will.

Jareth's brow drew together and his lips puckered. "Ugly details," he murmured. "I first showed up as Monty Jones because I just wanted to see you and antagonize you for a bit. I am the goblin king after all," he added with a smile small.

Sarah almost began to gloat at the confession.

He continued, "Then I ran into you at the coffee shop that night. You looked so small and lost. I knew what had happened, that your father had finally told you, that your memories had returned. And I had to know." His eyes gazed up at the ceiling, growing distant in thought. When he looked down again he made a small gesture with his right hand: he was now holding the cup with the cream. Without an explanation he reached for her hand and made her take hold of the cup. With a firm squeeze he dropped his arm. "I will send a subject to watch the witch's house and hopefully glean some information regarding the boy," he told her his tone firm once more. "You of course will stay with your father and I hope report any contact he might have with Karen."

Baffled, Sarah stared at the cup. "Of course," she managed to say.

"Watch for me. I shall return later."

One moment he was there, the next he had gone.

Sarah glanced around the living room and then back at the cup of cream in her hand. Why had he given her this? She thought her eye brow quirking. It had been for him. The telephone began to ring. Even though he had just left she half expected to hear Jareth's voice on the other end of line. It was in fact Mr. Proodle.

"Thank heavens," he exclaimed when she answered. "My dear it is so good to hear your voice!"

"Mr. Proodle- hi. I'm fine."

"Gave this old man quite the start last night, vanishing the way you did from the ball and not a word out of you."

Sarah listened to her boss make threats against Elias Brown's person and promises to up hold her honor or even restore it if need be. She sipped the cream as she listened.

"That is very gallant of you," she said when he paused for a breath. "But I am going to be alright. Yes. I should be able to return to work on Monday. Though just as a head's up, I might need to take a leave of absence here soon. Family matters."

"Oh my, I do hope it's nothing too serious," said Mr. Proodle.

Just a matter of life and death, thought Sarah cynically.

Mr. Proodle continued, "You let me know what you need to do, my dear."

She thanked him and they said their goodbyes.

Sarah retrieved the glass of wine and moved to put both cups in the kitchen. She still puzzled over what Jareth had meant by pressing it into her hand. It had been nice of Mr. Proodle to check on her and very sweet of him to make such proclamations about her honor. Sarah felt the cup slip from her hand. It knocked loudly in the sink. Sarah grimaced. It had nearly broke. The thought that had suddenly occurred to her was that Mr. Proodle should have had no idea that she had been in any danger the night of the ball. It was not common knowledge what had transpired.

She scribbled a note to let her father know where she had gone and then grabbed her coat and headed towards the book shop.


	18. Chapter 18

_I_

Jareth stood in between the street lamps, part of the shadows and undetected. The street itself was deserted. As he had predicted clouds had returned with a bitter drop in temperature: it would snow tonight. The chill kept people inside, huddled against the last remnants of winter. The few cars that were parked resembled the shells of giant insects, frozen and hallow.

He looked up at the sky, wishing he could see the stars instead of the low clouds.

A scurrying sound and a trash can toppled near by. He cocked his head, listening. From the same direction of the crash, came the patter of small feet. A creature skirted the near by street lamp and joined its master in the shadows. "Well?" Jareth prompted.

"Sire, we searched the whole premise and attempted to enter, but she had charms in place that made entry impossible," explained the goblin.

Jareth scowled. "And her whereabouts?"

"Alistair is following a faint trail," replied the goblin.

Alistair had been the first person Jareth had gone to after leaving Sarah at the apartment. It had been apparent to him that Alistair had been spending far too much time in his human form, there were slips in speech patterns and cracks in mannerisms. He had even begun referring to Sarah as "my lady" again, an endearment he had only invoked during her time in the Underground. Jareth had insisted he change to his true form.

"Don't order me about!" Alistair had initially balked. The strain of guarding the clay man was wearing on him. "I only volunteered to be a part of this charade because I wanted Sarah safe. I am not nor will I ever be one of your subjects!"

Jareth had then explained that he needed the man to shift back, to his use his true self to help track the witch. "It all helps you do your duty to Sarah," he had explained.

And with some reluctance, worrying that Sarah might come to the book shop, Alistair had shifted and gone off with several goblins. Jareth had watched his bushy fox tail disappear around a corner.

Now he looked down at his subject. "And the boy, Toby?" he then asked.

The goblin shrunk back, hesitating. He shrugged for an answer.

Jareth growled. He had been trying to track the boy all day, had searched for any trace, any lead. If that witch had harmed the boy in any way… He let the thought trail. He would live his life as a penitent, humble servant to Sarah Williams for all of eternity. Even if that meant never seeing her again; her wishing him gone. Jareth ground his teeth.

Having dismissed the goblin, Jareth stepped away from the sidewalk and folded the planes. He reappeared outside Sarah's apartment, pausing to check for any movement or activity. All was quiet. Snow began falling, lazy and slow as he listened. Feeling uneasy he moved from the outside to the inside without altering his appearance. The two glasses that had held wine and cream were now in the kitchen sink. It did not necessarily surprise him to find Robert still asleep- the slumber kept him from being used which in turn would help his health be restored. Everything else was almost as it had been when he had left.

All was still.

On the counter he found a note: Sarah had gone to the book shop. Oh that stubborn streak was going to get her into a lot of trouble one of these days. He had told her to stay put. What would prompt her to go off to visit Proodle, leaving her father alone? Reckless. Reckless and stupid. And exactly the sort of thing Jareth should have expected of her. He raised his eyes to the heavens in exasperation.

Yet they had not crossed paths. Jareth had been at the bookshop during the later part of the morning. Surely Alistair would have mentioned her visiting. No, she couldn't have arrived before him. Jareth had gone straight there, choosing flight as his mode of transportation to help settle his thoughts.

He saw his own shadow flicker along the wall as he thought about her whereabouts. No, she would have arrived after him and Alistair had left. The thought that Sarah could be so near the clay man again had Jareth running through the planes, searching tendrils of shadow shooting before him. Seven charms and the use of the Great Goblin Horde wouldn't convince him of her safety.

The window to the shop was dark and the door was pushed open. Jareth bristled. The glamour he and Alistair had used should have left the impression that the shop was being tended to, but closed for the evening. He moved quickly through the small front room, the full book shelves, and small reception desk and into the back. The chair was empty. The clay man had gone! He struck the door angered and surprised. How in the bog had the creature escaped? And Sarah…? He glanced around and spun sharply back towards the front room when he heard a scratching.

The desk light was on. Sitting primly, her strawberry blonde hair now styled in a short bob, her clothes pressed and creased in all the right folds, sat the former missus Williams, Karen. Emory board in one hand she was calmly examining her finger nails.

"He's long gone," she said to his unanswered question.

Jareth felt one of his eyes twitch. She had not been there the moment before. Either he had been too distracted with his emotions or this witch had grown in her powers. She regarded him with cool a expression, nearly amused with the corners of her mouth faintly upturned. The shadows in the room deepened. The lamp on the desk next to her flickered. Karen glanced back at it, her mouth forming a definite smirk.

"Still using the same intimidation tactics I see," she observed.

Jareth flicked his wrist and a small crystal ball appeared.

Opening a small hand bag on her lap, she put away the emory board, and closed the bag again with a distinct snap. "You certainly don't want to be harming me," she said.

"Oh I think I do," returned Jareth. With a flick of his eyes the front door slammed shut and the back door closed with a bang. He rolled the crystal around his hand, palm to back.

Still her face remained composed. "You need information that only I can provide," she pointed out.

Jareth weighed his options. He needed to know if Sarah and Toby were safe, and to know that he had to keep her alive. Though he rather fancied filleting her alive and then throwing her in the bog. "Witch," he addressed her. "you are awfully confident for having tampered with a well established code of conduct between your kind and mine. You have over stepped your boundaries and are dealing with powers that you cannot begin to comprehend." The crystal balanced on his finger tips.

"Oh I comprehend," she retorted. "I bound you to a life for a life contract; a contract that is as binding as your very sinews in your body."

"And yet you see fit to tamper with this contract. You claim you understand the brevity of our agreement, therefore return my payment and I shall let you live."

"I don't think so," Karen replied.

"I need my payment," he insisted.

"And you shall have to acquire it from some other hapless female." She stood up, purse in hand and turned towards the shop door.

"Sarah is marked as mine. You will return her!"

Over her shoulder Karen said, "Sarah Williams is no longer qualified to be your payment."

Jareth drew back, startled. Regaining his balance he raised his arm and threw the crystal towards the front door. As it reached the apex of its arch it exploded showering a cascade of small crystal spikes that surrounded Karen. Each point gleamed sharply, aimed at her person. "What did you do to her?" he demanded.

Karen's shoulders rolled and settled. She turned to face him. "Tender must be legal, must have an appropriate exchange rate to work in a business transaction," she said. "It's all part of the balance."

Jareth felt a chill run down his spine. He fought hard against his body not to show his growing fear. The crystal spikes hovered, awaiting his command. "I could take the boy back," he challenged.

She laughed, a sweet giddy sound that was unnatural in their situation. When she stopped she fixed him with an amused expression. "No. You won't. You care too much about the silly girl."

"I care about my payment," he replied, relaxing his stance, feigning indifference to her claim. "A pretty jewel is hard to put down, especially one so warm and attractive. What could you possibly gain from denying me my payment?"

"You can still be paid. You have your pick of the whole city."

Jareth gave his head a small shake. "The night she stepped foot in my Labyrinth she was accepted as payment. You are attempting to negate and alter- two acts I do not take kindly to."

"I am merely returning the favor," was her candid reply. "Now, I really must be getting along. I shouldn't want Elias Brown to actually break her."

He thought again about killing her. One of the shards zipped forward, glancing the skin across her cheek. A scratch appeared, redder than her hair.

A perfectly manicured finger gingerly touched the spot. "The door," she told him.

"This isn't over," he said through clenched teeth.

"The door," she repeated.

"I will find her and when I do I will seek you out and kill you," he promised.

Again, this time raising her voice, "The door!"

There was a click and the front door edged open. Karen Williams left the book shop.

For a span of time he stood where he was, his brain unwilling to process what the witch had told him. She had Sarah. She had Elias Brown. Elias Brown was with Sarah. The Mighty Oberon protect him! On unsteady legs he moved towards the desk chair and sank down into the seat. His heart was racing, his chest felt weighted down. He was in a state of panic, an unfamiliar, foreign feeling to him, and he hated it. With a shout of rage, shadows exploded from his center and rushed about the room disturbing papers, knocking loose several books, and expelling his bent up energy. He sat breathing heavily.

He hated having to let her leave. Leave. She had just left.

His mind focused. Jareth snapped his fingers and leapt from the chair. From one of the darkened corners a goblin appeared, rushing to his master's side. He ordered the creature to follow the scent right outside the door- "Do not loose her!" On the side walk he sent his subject off into the night. Leaving the shop, he made for the apartment once more. He had one slim chance of actually saving both of them. It was a plan that bucked at his long held beliefs, a plan that could send the universe careening in some unknown direction: it would involve convincing Robert Williams to trust him. He, Jareth, couldn't remove either one of them without causing more harm. But Robert- their father, their blood; the man responsible for their well being- could. With a few simple, key words he could wish them away.

 _II_

Robert found himself coming out of his bedroom, bleary eyed and a bit muddled. He had gone to sleep. Again? That was at least the second time he had done so without remembering even going into his bedroom. Though grateful for the rest, he worried that this was how narcolepsy began. Yawning, he moved down the hall towards the kitchen.

"Sarah? Sarah are you home?" he called out. He got out a glass for a drink of water.

Recent events began to clear in his mind. He had actually asked the king for help. Robert shook his head in disbelief. The man still wanted to take his daughter away from him; still thought of her as a payment, and yet, he was the only one strong enough to stand up to his ex-wife. He slid a bagel into the toaster.

Trust him though, Robert did not. The creature known as the Goblin King was just as crafty as his ex, possessed the same unnatural powers, and lived life in a sort of controlled chaos that made his stomach ache.

Having plated his food, he moved to the table, and saw the disheveled state of his apartment. Speaking of controlled chaos, he thought grimly. I really need to clean things up. He sat down to eat.

"Robert," said a voice suddenly.

He yelped and dropped his bagel. The Goblin King had appeared in his small dining room without a sound. This time the pressing, unnatural dark was missing and there were no shadows dancing on the walls. Robert recovered himself. "For crying out loud," he bit out picking up his over turned food. His eyes glanced from the plate to the face of the king. Those eyes of his were still unsettling. "I don't think Sarah's home," he then said.

"I know," replied the king. He paused and his cape moved as if an unseen breeze had ruffled the material. "I came here to speak with you."

Robert couldn't think of much he would want to hear from this man, short of _your daughter is free._ "Alright," he said.

Again the cape rustled. Robert wondered at the strangeness of movement and the silence that accompanied it. It was almost as if the king was uncomfortable. That notion struck him as wildly new: the Goblin King displaying an appropriate human emotion?

"Is it about my children?" he asked when he still didn't speak.

Jareth finally spoke, "I am a king, master of my domain. I am used to saying do this and it is done. Old codes, old laws, old ways that are traditions held sacred. But necessity begs me to change. Robert I must ask of you something, and yes, it is regarding your children."

If he had asked him for help in any other matter, Robert would have been tempted to laugh in his face. "You're a hard one to figure out, Jareth," said Robert. Using the king's name tingled on his lips. But his daughter had used it, had spoken it with confidence. He watched the king's face for any reaction to knowing his name. "What did you find out?"

"Karen has them," said the king. He looked down, his brow furrowing. "And I cannot get to them."

Robert felt his stomach tighten, the little bit of food he had inside it burning. He abruptly pushed away from the table, standing. "What does she want with them? What does she want us to do? Is it ransom? Is it spite?" The questions spilled from his mouth. He didn't wait for an explanation. "You said you had to ask me something- what is it?"

"I need you to retrieve your children."

"You just said we cannot get to them," Robert replied.

The king's face pinched further into a scowl. " _I_ cannot get to them. I said, that I cannot." He looked up again, those mismatched were bright and pleading. "But you can Robert. You just have to say the right words."

Robert regarded him cautious and unsure what words he actually meant.

"The same words Karen gave your daughter," explained Jareth.

Robert folded his arms. "I should punch you," he stated, the memory of that fateful night still just as fresh in his mind as if it had been the previous evening. That night he had tried to strike the king and failed. "I want to do just that. I've watched my daughter grow up, become a beautiful person, pursing her passions, and the creature who wants to take that all away from me, is asking me to give her and her brother over to him! Not a chance!"

Jareth interjected, raising his voice, "Do you want them safe?"

"How is with you safe?" Robert exclaimed hotly.

"Karen has them! The witch, the woman who started this whole problem- has them!"

"There has to be something more we can do!"

"Think Robert- you know this right move."

"Give me one good reason why I should trust you? How are you any better than Karen?"

"Because I love her!" Jareth shouted.

Robert's brow drew tight in surprise. "You what?" he snapped.

"I love her! Sarah is in trouble and I cannot get to her. For the love of all that's holy man, say the blasted words!"

Robert was suddenly struck with a memory of a younger Sarah, running down the stairs in their old house, dressed in her mint green princess costume. Her long hair was twisted up and secured with a collection of barrettes. He had no idea why that image of her should come to him so vividly or why it should make his father's heart ache. He looked at Jareth- a man on the brink of a break down. A familiar state of being if ever Robert knew one.

"I wish the goblins would take my children away," he said.

 _Author's Notes: whew! And I'm working on it... As to the delay in the posting, I just got back from a glorious trip to New York City where I had the absolute pleasure of visiting the David Bowie Is exhibit. I cried. I sang. I smiled. Truly a brilliant collection. My mind still has hard time accepting the fact that the gorgeous Starman is no longer with us._


	19. Chapter 19

Every fiber of her being hurt- taunt with fear and adrenaline, her muscles ached, and were close to exhaustion. She had been thrashing and crying for what could have been hours. She had been tied to a bed in a bedroom with floral, cottage decor. It was so soft and feminine, it seemed like a cruel joke to the horror Sarah was endearing. Karen had put her here.

She had heard his voice as well. She knew that Elias Brown was near, possibly right outside the door, waiting to come in and finish what had begun the night in his car.

Moments after she had arrived the lights had gone out. She had proceed to scream and curse, then plead and beg. She could not bear the thought of being near that creature ticked by in an immeasurable amount.

Squeezing her eyes, she tried to ready herself for the smell of damp earth and the horror of that strange creature's hands on her again. Part of her rationalized that if she could retreat into herself, think of someone else touching her then maybe just maybe she could survive. But the anticipation of being violated and all the crazy things that the witch had promised would happen, blocked out all efforts. She heard the choked sob and his name on her lips: she was begging for Jareth to find her.

One moment she was sweating in the closed room, the next instant she felt the air cool. A light breeze danced over her head, brushing several long strands of her hair. The bed felt different too- it was hard and scratchy now. Slowly, she opened her eyes and instead of the bedroom she saw a dirty mop bucket and several cleaning rags. The reason the ground scratched was because it was covered in dirt. "What the-?" she whispered and then winced. Her throat burned from all the screaming and crying she had done. Her wrists were still bound, but she was at least free to sit up. Looking around she realized she was sitting on a particular dirty bit of stone floor, in a room that was more like a long hall.

Dazed, Sarah stared around her in wonder and trepidation. What was Karen up to? Where was she? Though something told her that she ought to know the answer to the latter question. The warmth in her middle stirred.

A figure not far away moved and there was the sound of talking. "Toby!" Sarah exclaimed recognizing him and scrambled to her feet. Nothing else mattered except that he was safe. She reached him and held his face, smoothed his blonde hair, and asked if he was alright. "Are you hurt?" she asked, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Nope. I'm okay," he told her.

He really did look okay. His cheeks were pink and his hair smelled of shampoo. She patted his shoulders and arms: everything seemed well intact and clean. "You're really okay," she sobbed and hugged him, by sort of looping him in her arms, her secured wrists making it awkward.

"Yeah," he said, his voice calm. "But you're a mess! Phew!"

Sarah let out an odd mixture of a sob and a laugh. That her baby brother would notice she was stinky was a good sign. Raising her arms, she looked down at him and smiled. "Sh-she didn't hurt you?"

"Who?" Toby asked.

Sarah leaned back on her bent legs taken aback. She searched his little face. "Karen."

This seemed to puzzle him, his soft round features looking at her askew. "Mom? No, she didn't hurt me. Check it out, sis, look where we are!" His attention was drawn to who he had been speaking to earlier: a goblin stood a small distance apart. "He's a goblin," explained Toby with a cheery inflection.

Sarah stared at the little creature. How? Or why? "Yeah," she agreed absently. If there was a goblin, then that would mean that… Her brain tripped over the thought.

The goblin approached and bowed. He had a particularly pointed nose and sported a dented helmet. "Is the little lady alright?" he asked after her well being. He motioned for her bound wrists. On his finger tips were claws, which he extended and easily cut through the bindings.

Sarah rubbed her wrists grateful. Her brother was unscathed and there was a goblin looking after them. Her brain took several more beats to put the information together. Mumbling a thanks she got to her feet. Her legs shook and she wavered, but it felt good to be in control of her body again. Her eyes scanned the hall: one way was a massive double door that rose some four stories upward; to her right the way extended to what appeared to be a circular room. "Are we… are we in the castle beyond the Goblin City?" she then asked.

"King's home," replied the goblin. "All wished away are brought here."

Next to her Toby had gotten to his feet. With an exclamation of "Wow neat" he had gone off to examine a suit of armor. More goblins were appearing, curious and welcoming to the new comers.

Sarah stood dumbfounded. Wished away? How could they be wished away? She had prayed for a rescue, but this was an odd development. She raised a hand to her head. This made no sense! And Toby, he shouldn't be here! She swayed as her knees struggled to hold her up. The motion made her stomach heave. "Wished away…?" she repeated.

Suddenly everyone's attention was drawn towards the massive double doors, as they were thrown back and slammed against the walls. A dark shape appeared with wings and it moved in a purposeful stride. It was coming straight at her. Something about it looked familiar. Her vision cleared and she realized that Jareth was rushing towards her, cape flying behind him. She spoke his name, gratefulness and surprise mingling. Her legs grew weaker and her mind, violated and stressed, shut down. She collapsed against him, a sob shaking her. His arms supported her. His shirt smelled like comfort.

"I got you," he said against her head. Though his voice sounded far away. "It worked and I have you." Jareth inhaled deeply and he tightened his hold.

Over the sound of her own ragged breathing she heard his voice, distant and muffled, giving orders: seeing to the comforts of the boy and preparing food. He told his subjects that he would see to the lady. The air shifted around her, a light breeze as before, and he asked her to lean against him. That she could do. He smelled like cloves and incense smoldering.

"Sit down," he told her, as he lowered her. "Together. I'm right here."

Sarah wiped her eyes and glanced around: they were in some sort of wash room and she was sitting on a low bench. She could hear running water. An involuntary shiver shook her body.

Jareth, cradling her against his chest, began removing her light sweater. He eased it over her head, leaving behind her tank top. She heard him say "be cooperative" and felt him tug at her pants. At this Sarah's mind finally reacted and she shook her head. "I'm going to help you," Jareth was saying. "I need to get you in the water." She heard him snap his fingers and allowed her pants to slide away.

In her underwear and the tank top, he lifted her and began carrying her across the room. Head on his shoulder, Sarah closed her eyes and listened: the sound of running water grow louder. There was a shift in her weight distribution as Jareth seemed to descend. Warm water rushed over her body, filling in every bend in her joints or crease in her skin.

"Relax," said Jareth his voice clear once more and quite near her face. "Let the water work."

Sarah felt his arms supporting her as well as the water buoy her up. Tension seemed to seep out of her body. Her toes bobbed just above the surface and her arms floated at her sides. She felt her head dip and nearly completely submerge. Cautiously she blinked her eyes, her mind becoming clearer and her focus sharpening. Jareth was leaning over her, the two of them in some sort of pool.

"What is this?" she asked suddenly.

Jareth let out a bent up breath. "Underground water." He then proceeded to have her hold her breath and he did submerge her head. It was akin to an odd baptism: Sarah emerged breathing easier and feeling refreshed. She found the bottom of the pool with her feet and stood, the water halfway up her torso.

"Underground water, huh?" she repeated, impressed. She wiped water from her eyes and smoothed her hair back.

Jareth nodded. "I gave you a sip of it that night at my apartment. It's pure, magical in its own right. This time I wasn't going to take any chances." He indicated the pool.

Sarah glanced down at herself in her thoroughly soaked tank that had become somewhat transparent, showing her bra underneath and felt her legs move unrestricted. She was half naked. She looked at Jareth: his clothes hung limp and wet on his body as well.

"Thank you," she told him. "For saving me."

"I only wish I could have been there sooner."

The fact the Goblin King wished anything momentarily amused Sarah. _Wish_. Then she remembered how the goblin had said that all wished away were brought to the castle. She wanted to ask how that had worked and who had done the wishing, but Jareth had moved near her and was looking at her intently.

Perhaps the water was working its magic a little too strongly, dissolving her recently erected protection around her heart, for Sarah felt a rush of longing and desire for him. It wasn't just gratitude or the relief of being rescued. She had wanted him to rescue her; had wanted him.

The water lapped at her clothes.

Jareth moved swiftly and caught her up in a kiss. She pressed herself against him and kissed back, wrapping her arms around his neck. He lingered over her lips which tingled. His grip around her waist tightened.

"Why couldn't you have just stayed put?" he demanded of her, his voice strained. "You stubborn, foolish girl-," he paused his voice cracking. "I thought I was going to loose you."

She had scared him. This realization hit Sarah hard. She had not paused to give a single thought to his feelings or how foolhardy her decision might have been. The warmth filled her stomach as if to remind her how Jareth had once scolded her for this very thing. _Pretty princess caught up in the unfairness of her situation never once considering how I might feel_. She had gone out and fallen right into a trap.

What about my feelings? She rallied. He still has yet to actually apologize for anything he has done! Sarah dropped her gaze from his and relaxed her hold around his neck. No, she had to own this mistake and apologize for it. Honesty was after all her preferred policy.

"I'm sorry," Jareth said.

Surprised, her eyes flew up to his face again.

Jareth continued, "I wasn't worthy of your trust. You had no reason to heed my advice."

"No, you did nothing wrong," Sarah was quick to reply. "It was sound advice. I'm the idiot. I shouldn't have gone off like that. It's just that Alistair had called,-"

"Alistair?"

"And he sounded suspicious, knowing more about what had happened with Elias Brown than he should have."

Jareth shook his head and a small smile crossed his face. "It seems there are till some finer details that need explaining," he said. His eyes locked with hers. "Sarah I want your trust. I hope that you will be willing to help me earn it."

The pool was part of a washroom and was in fact an exceptionally large recessed bathtub. Jareth provided her with a rob and left her in an adjoining room in which to change. Sarah stripped out of her wet things. This adjoining room had a few varying in size mirrors, a vanity of sorts, and several tall cupboards. Curiosity got the better of Sarah and she peeked inside one: it held a collection of shirts in soft linens. A closet. Another held capes in a variety of lengths, some shimmered, others gossamer thin. The third held modern suits and several dinner jackets. She chose one more at random, enjoying the innocent snooping, and found a rather sparse cupboard with a few crisp button downs and an oversized grey sweater. Monty's choice of attire.

Sarah swallowed. Perhaps there would come a day when she could ask him to wear it again. She really had liked him in the soft, knitted material. She glanced around at the remaining unopened doors. Just how many different outfits did he own? Her fingers drummed against the door.

Pulling the ties on her rob tight she found the door that Jareth had exited through and went out. She found an even larger room divided into two distinct parts. One side held a desk and a small table; chairs, both practical and for lounging were placed throughout. On the other, occupying most of the floor space, was a canopied bed in white bed linens. On the first side was Jareth, leaning over the desk which was scattered with several documents. He was bare chested, his shirt discarded or forgotten over a chair. Three goblins were there with him, discussing some matter.

Sarah eyed him with appreciation and a bit of amusement, and then decided to listen in.

"I was adamant she be followed," he was saying to the three gathered around the desk.

One of the goblins spoke, "Sire we did as you told us! She disappeared! Squeak and I," he continued, indicating one of his companions with blue horns. "followed her outside the shop and down several blocks. Then poof!"

"Poof!" repeated Squeak.

"That's impossible! She's a witch," said Jareth folding his arms. "Our magic is far superior to hers. Show me where you lost her."

The four of them huddled over the map. The first goblin pointed a finger. "There," he said.

"What is this place?" Jareth inquired.

Sarah leaned near. A map was across the desk, it appeared to be a large city. Her eyes scanned the streets and buildings, the topography becoming familiar. Alistair's bookshop. The library. The coffee shop where she had spent time with Monty. And there- her father's apartment. The name Robert William's appeared and hovered about the space indicated on the map.

She let out a small gasp of surprise.

Jareth cast her an amused look. "Enchanted map," he explained. "We've been trying to figure out how we keep losing the witch." He made room for her to look closer. "As soon as she left the bookshop last night I sent Blot after her. He followed her along this route, past the Indian food cafe and then he says he lost her. Squeak joined him. I've just been informed though that her whereabouts are still unknown." The two aforementioned goblins squirmed and cowered under the lip of the desk. Jareth turned his attention to the third goblin, "Meep, have you heard back from Alistair?"

Sarah blinked in yet even more surprise. Her lips fell open.

Meep spoke quickly, in a higher tone, "Last he checked in he said he was going to investigate the sewage line underneath that block."

It was mentioned again that the building near which Karen's trail had gone cold was unknown.

"Last I knew it was a private club," said Sarah. "There isn't sign on the street or anything to indicate what exactly it is. I only know because my friend Tori and I stole a look through one of the windows once." As she said her friend's name, the words Tori Alexander, appeared drifting near the park.

Sarah explained that the inside of the building was richly decorated with leather winged back chairs and there had been some tapestries that they could barely make out. "Oh, I'm not sure exactly," she said when Jareth asked her what had been on the tapestries. "Some sort of horned animal and a large triangle, I think."

For a moment everyone fell silent.

"A coven," said Jareth finally. All eyes looked to the king. "A horned goat and an inverted triangle- common symbols associated with witch craft. Would also explain the increase in power."

Squeak spoke, "If only we knew why she wanted to hurt Lady, we'd be in a good place."

Sarah felt the blood slowly drain from her face at Squeak's remark. Karen had told her many things, threatened her with even more. The sweltering darkness. The bindings on her wrists. The overwhelming fear. Her heart rate quickened.

She heard Jareth order the room cleared.

A hand on her shoulder guided her to sit down in a chair. A tumbler glass was fitted in to her palm. "Something a bit stronger than water," said Jareth. "Even magical water."

She looked up and saw him sitting in the big chair behind the desk, another tumble placed on the desk's surface. She sniffed the contents of the glass: brandy. She took a sip and felt it burn down her throat. The warmth of the magic took the alcohol and burned it throughout her body.

In his chair, Jareth swirled the contents of his tumbler and absently chewed on the tip of one of his fingers. "Why indeed," he murmured to himself. To Sarah he said, "I have to know."

Sarah took another sip. She didn't have much experience with alcohol, but she was betting on the cliche that a strong drink made hard matters easier. "She, Karen, she kept insisting that some how I deserved this humiliation," she finally began to explain. "At one point she even said she was returning the favor."

"Interesting, she said those same words to me," Jareth commented. "Continue."

Sarah put herself back at the encounter: pushing open the shop door, only to be hit with an all enveloping darkness. Then she had heard her stepmother's voice, so sweet and calm. So deceitful. She felt the invisible hands tying her to the bed, chaffing her wrists. Through her fear and desperation Sarah heard Karen's voice.

Sarah spoke out loud, "Back into the fold- that's something else she said. More than once she mentioned a fold and being allowed back. Her treatment of me was supposed to fix some problem she had." She stood up and paced aimlessly for a moment. When she turned back to Jareth she asked, "What did you do to her?"

Jareth swallowed a sip of drink. "Do to her? I did nothing."

"Well, hold on, you did: you renegotiated her contract."

"For your father's sake. But I never touched the witch."

"She said she was returning the favor."

Jareth cleared his throat. "I certainly did not order anyone to violate her," he said.

Sarah hummed and turned away again. "What if on that night there were repercussions beyond the terms of the contract. Of course!" Sarah scoffed and slapped her forehead. "My father divorced her! The very next day he told me they were separating, within weeks they were living apart. She lost the big house, the nice car, the frequent shopping trips- she lost everything she valued."

"Except the boy," countered Jareth setting his glass on the desk. "She had what she had bargained for."

Sarah shook her head. "She wanted a son, with my dad," she explained. "She wanted me gone; she wanted a perfect little family. And because of me, she lost all of that. It fits. Though why she would gamble loosing Toby," she let the sentence trail.

"I think I may have some insight there." He told her how he gone to the bookshop after finding her note at the apartment; how Karen had appeared. "She told me I could chose a new payment, I could have the pick of the city, any other hapless female." His eyes were on her face, waiting for a reaction. "She believed I would adhere to tradition, secure a different payment, and never touch the William's family again."

Yet here she was. Sarah had been snatched from the jaws of the beast, as it were, and she and her brother were safe. He had some how managed to still chose her as payment. So what did that mean for the contract? And with Toby being here… She took a deep breath. The familiar warmth spread out through her body, grounding her thoughts.

"But you didn't," she finally said. "You didn't do what she expected."

Jareth smirked. "I do hope you're not disappointed in my decision?"

She smiled and heard herself scoff. It was a relief to hear his teasing once more. She let her eyes fall over him, lounging in his chair, bare chested and confident. Her mind quickly played a series of ways she could show her gratitude that they both would enjoy. She cleared her throat as she saw one of his eyebrows quirk up and his smirk deepen into a grin.

"How did you manage it?" she then asked.

Instead of answering, Jareth stood up and retrieved his shirt from the back of another chair. He put his arms through the holes. "We should prepare to meet with the coven that resides in that building," he announced indicating the map.

Sarah came near him as he worked the buttons. She took his hands away and began to slide several buttons into their holes. "Part of trust is believing I can handle the truth," she said. "One of your goblins told me that all wished away were brought to the castle. Is that what happened?" His brow drew together. "Did someone say the right words?"

Jareth stilled her hands. When he spoke his voice was soft, "I have often spoken of your father with a degree of respect. He was duped by his wife, showed boldness and loyalty when those he loved were threatened."

"My father," she breathed. "He-?"

Jareth nodded. "I went to him and begged him to use the words. His children are safe. He is at peace with the outcome. Now," he said stepping away from her. "I have some matters to attend to. I shall arrange for clothes for you to wear. If you need anything, simply ask. My servants will obey you."

Sarah stood rather dumbfounded. Her father had said the right words? She felt a strange mixture of love and grief for him. And Jareth had begged for his help? Her heart swelled even tighter.


	20. Chapter 20

_Author's Notes: these last two chapters signified another shift in dynamics between J and S. I have saved on my hard drive at least two to three versions of the events of that took place. I knew where it was going, but I couldn't decide how swift or how...well, passionate things should be. The recessed pool was tempting, as was something involving a shower, but the timing was constantly off. So I backed off and allowed the characters to write themselves into whatever scenario fit them best. Sarah had to be practical, yet confident. Jareth needed to be sensual yet desperate. I am probably babbling now._

 _Thank you all as well for wishing me better health. I am doing alright. No vertigo! YES! But unfortunately other issues that have led to a GI doctor, which in turn have led to needing an endoscopy and biopsy. I am relatively still a youngster (mid thirties is the new mid twenties, right?), so these developments are interesting. In the waiting room, I was probably the only person without a summer residence address and not on any form of blood-related medications._

 _Anyhow I tell you all of this because I am not sure how quickly the next installment will get out. This next week will either be quick and I'll bounce back with answers or weird and more questions than answers._ _You darlings are awesome. I cannot wait to lead you all through the next twist._

...

Servants appeared as soon as she voiced a desire for anything. It was unnerving at first: she would say a need, "I need a drink", and a goblin would come crawling out from under the bed or fall out from behind the desk, ready to make good on the request. "Does the little lady want water or juice? We also have some fine ale!" She chose the water and it was delivered, much to her relief, by way of the door.

Clothing proved a bit more entertaining. Three goblins appeared and led her back into the closet. One of them snapped their fingers and all the doors opened. "The king wants me to wear his clothes?" she asked. The one who had done the snapping, shrugged, as if to say why not? It had been one thing to borrow a tshirt from the man she had once considered her boyfriend, but it seemed quite another to select clothes that were antiquated and belonged to a king. Sarah selected a tunic that would work almost like a dress and a pair of breeches. She turned towards the three goblins who sat idly in the door way. Sarah pulled a face at the thought of changing in front of them, and shooed with her hand. "I need some privacy, fellas," she said by way of ordering them out.

It felt oddly intimate and a touch sinful to wear a man's clothes without any undergarments, but she had no choice. Her other clothes and undergarments had vanished from the washroom floor. And she certainly wasn't going to walk around in the robe all day. The tunic had hidden ties, these she pulled as tight as she could to keep the top closed. The breeches had the opposite problem: the waist band was tight around her hips. When she saw her reflection in one of the mirrors- her damp hair drying in a tangled mess, her face without makeup, and ill fitting clothes- she expected to feel frumpy and tired. The warmth in her middle however felt satisfied, near delighted at the sight.

Sarah sighed, consenting that it was also a sexy sensation to be wearing his clothes.

The next thing that needed to be done was she needed to see her brother. He had seemed so calm, so at ease, and completely unfazed by being in the presence of goblins. "I need to see my brother," she said aloud.

The goblin that appeared had a frizzy head of black hair and matching dark eyes. He led her through a series of halls and down some stairs. Sarah passed wide windows that over looked gardens and stables. Most of the walls were bare without decoration. An occasional painting was hung at the bends in the walkways. These Sarah only managed a hurried glimpse of as she kept up with her guide.

Toby was in an enclosed yard in the company of several other goblins. They were a ragamuffin type group with dented helmets and broken spears. At one end of the yard were red and white target circles. Sarah watched as the group instructed Toby in the technique of a sling shot. Her brother actually managed to hit one of the targets resulting in cheers and shouts of approval from his instructors. A second shot though managed to strike a random chicken which was met with an even louder eruption of praise.

From her higher up vantage point, a walkway that surrounded the practice yard, Sarah chose to watch instead of interfere. Toby was by all appearances safe. At some point he surely will have questions, she reasoned. I've told him so many stories about fairies and dragons and goblins- he's living his ultimate fantasy! But, if he has no idea how dangerous Karen has become, eventually he will miss his mom and our dad. How am I going to explain this to him?

She sighed, heavily and leaned against a support beam.

Their dad. He had been persuaded to say the right words. _I wish the goblins…_ But he had done so out of desperation, love. When Sarah had spoken the words it had been out of jealousy and spite. She certainly had not deserved the chance to win back her baby brother. Something in the back of her mind tickled her thoughts, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it.

She looked at the goblin who had escorted her. "You know I didn't catch your name," she said.

"Bumpkin, my lady," he answered.

"Bumpkin, has my brother eaten anything?" she asked cautiously.

"King had some food brought from Above to feed the young master," he answered. "Said that he wasn't to have any of ours."

That was a relief. Sarah nodded.

"Though I don't know why. Our Bog Frog stew is quite yummy," added Bumpkin.

Sarah grimaced. She doubted anything that came from a bog could be palatable.

"Lady hungry?" Bumpkin then asked.

"Um,"

Bumpkin held his arm out, indicating the passage behind them. "King set aside a special room for you with his own food. Said to take you there when you were hungry."

The special room was in fact a library. Floor to ceiling book shelves, lounging chairs, and a fire place. Sarah stood within the doorway breathing deep the familiar scents of paper, binding glue, and ink. A real fire place! Not some faux one with an electric heater as at the library. And the shelves were full, end to end. When the warmth spread from her middle out to all of limbs, Sarah could think of no objections to its excitement. Sarah's eyes ran over some of the spines: runes, numbers, and markings she had never seen. A different shelf held the titles: A Brief History of the Gnome Empire, Natural Fairy Repellents And Balms for Bites, and Tick Tock: An Indepth Study of the Paradoxical Relationship Between Mice and Clocks. Sarah felt her eyes widen and a smile appear on her lips.

Bumpkin tugged on her sleeve. "When you're ready to eat," he said, pointing out a table near the fire place. On it's surface was a large silver serving tray with a cover. "simply lift the lid and your food will be ready. Anything else lady?"

Sarah shook her head and she was left alone with the books.

…..

For several moments she simply walked the room, her hand trailing along the shelves as if she were stroking the cheeks of beloved children. She flipped through several at random their reliefs depicting Underground life: lumbering beasts with shaggy red hair, living fungus that had eyes, and small brownies that resided in burrows beneath the maze. There was so much to soak in. It should have felt over whelming, should have been a daunting collection of knowledge. But Sarah's heart remained calm; her mind sober. Books she could handle, could understand.

When she came across one with a loose page or a weak binding, old habits kicked in and she started multiple piles for repair work on a long table near the back of the room. She tsked and shook her head, disappointed that for one who had claimed to be a senior restorator, Jareth had a fair number of books in his library in need of attention. She decided she would scold him for letting these volumes deteriorate so.

There was an atlas that she opened on the floor, its wide pages bearing maps of the Labyrinth. Sarah found the castle at the center of the maze and began to trace her way around it. She was hoping that parts of her memory would become less muddled if she actually saw some of the places. The Forbidden Forest could very well have been where the appendage separating creatures who called themselves the Fire Gang resided. There was another placed called The Bog of Eternal Stench- that one brought up a faint recollection of a collapsing bridge and the sound of a dog barking. She had met someone there for sure. Was that where Sir Didymus lived? And was that where the Bog Frog stew originated from? Sarah stuck her tongue out and pulled a face in disgust. Other places were foreign and new.

Eventually she became engrossed in a book of poetry and brought it with her to the table near the fire place. The illustrative calligraphy was so intricate that her eyes found themselves entranced with birds with extensive plumage, flowers blooming in tropical shades, and stars that seemed to hover just above the page. It was exactly the sort of work that she would have taken up for an evening, having ordered Thai food for dinner, and curled up on her father's couch.

Absently she reached for the silver lid and removed it. Her senses were at once struck with the smell of fresh fried jasmine rice with stripes of beef and a tall glass filled with the milky orange of Thai iced tea. The sort of carry out or delivery she would have chosen.

She stared at the food for a long moment.

Was she really okay with eating food so obviously infused with magic? Was she ready to tempt fate and perhaps become another young girl, wasting away, an addict to fae food? Sarah sat down on the couch, the book of poetry becoming forgotten.

She reevaluated her circumstances. She had tasted goblin fruit. There was no way to undo that fact; the warmth in her middle was there to stay. She was in the Underground: a wished away and a payment. She could see through glamour as well as sense magic. Her humanity was tainted with magic, whether she liked it or not.

The truth was that it really did not bother her. She had spent nearly a day in the company of goblins without so much as a gasp or a cry of alarm. She was just as comfortable among them as her brother. And the prospect of Jareth returning so she could talk to him, was exciting. Honesty, Sarah, she chided herself. You're actually really looking forward to him coming home.

She took a bite of the jasmine rice. It was really good. She took another and another.

She thought about him standing in the recessed pool, nearly chest deep in water, his clothes hugging on his body. Then he had swept her up into a kiss. Whew, he knew how to kiss. Sarah felt her toes curl at the memory. She saw him in his tux at the dance and the next morning with his shirt tail hanging loose. Of course then there had been his choice of, or rather lack of attire while sitting behind his desk: a toned, lithe build, yet muscular enough to carry her. Reaching for the iced tea, Sarah took a long sip of the cool drink. She ate most of the food on the tray.

After a while she found herself reexamining the piles of books she had accumulated. Broken yet desirable. Disheveled, but still useful. She held one of them in her hands and brought it close to her face, smelling the paper and old binding process. Difficult to fix, might even need to be fitted with a new cover, yet still dear. Sarah would still want to attempt the fix, read the words, and understand its contents; treat it with gentle hands, an occasional firm touch. Anything to make it a better version of itself.

Sarah decided she needed another drink of her iced tea when she heard the door open. At first she thought it might be a goblin come to collect the tray. She turned to tell whoever it was that she wasn't quite done, only to see Jareth shutting the door behind him.

He barely took notice of her. He went to the service tray and replaced the lid, covering her leftovers. When he raised it again, the food was gone and in its place was a tall bottle and a wine glass. He poured himself half a glass, downed it and refilled it.

"Um hi," Sarah said, staying by the table.

He looked at her. "Sarah," he said in a tired tone. "I trust you have had a good day?"

"Yeah, it has been alright," she replied. "You?" She watched him take another drink. It didn't seem natural for him to be consuming so much wine so quickly. She was relieved when he did not refill a third time.

Jareth gave her a slight shrug. "My servants have been attentive?" he then asked.

Sarah turned a book over in her hands. "Yes."

"And Toby- he is well?"

"Last I saw him some of the goblins were teaching him how to use a sling shot." She attempted a laugh, but it fell short of providing any real mirth. She eyed him, wondering at his somber mood.

Jareth took a deep breath and cleared his throat, his features relaxed some what. He cast his eyes around the room, books on the couch, the atlas spread at the floor. He pointed at the table. "Reorganizing my library are you?" he asked her.

Sarah smiled a bit sheepish. "I started making piles of books that needed minor repairs." She turned to place the one she had been holding on the table. Behind her she heard him cross the room. "Old habits, die hard and all that," she admitted.

At her side Jareth reached for one of the books from the nearest pile.

"It was just something to do," she went on. His sudden appearance after such rash thoughts regarding his person had left her flustered.

He hummed. "Yes, after tiring of going through my wardrobe, I see."

Just out of the corner of her eye Sarah could see his gaze dropping over her. She felt her cheeks flush.

"Do with them as you will," he told her.

"With what?" she asked for clarification.

"The books. I've seen your work, Sarah. They are in capable hands."

She turned a bit to look at him; she wanted to see what sort of teasing look was in his eye. His lids were hooded though. Then as if the smell of old books wasn't enough of a high, Sarah became aware of other scents that made her pulse quicken- smoldering incense left over from a ritual; wood being lazily burned.

Instead of handing her the book, Jareth reached around her, forcing her to back against the table, and placed the book on a pile behind her. He stood hovering over her, their bodies brushing. "All yours," he whispered.

Sarah wondered if she should thank him or least say something reassuring about caring for his books, but words were sticking in her throat. He was barely touching her and he had her all worked up. Books- as if they were really discussing those hard bound pamphlets.

Jareth kissed her and then inhaled her small gasp. Was she ready to let him in once more? Had there been enough trust given and returned? What did any of that matter when with a few simple moves she could gain something pleasurable? Could make something go right for once? He kissed her again, forcing her lips open, tasting her mouth.

For a moment she fumbled with her hands, attempting to balance on the edge of the table and wanting to hold onto him. Jareth solved the problem by lifting her onto the surface and then promptly sliding her legs around his waist. This was all accomplished while he continued kissing her. Sarah's hands were free to then pull on his shirt or run her fingers through his hair.

Her elbow connected with a pile, knocking books over. He bumped the table causing another toppling. Both of them laughed from some where deep in their throats. His hands explored the front of the tunic causing Sarah to tilt her head up in a sharp in take of breath. His findings caused him to suddenly lunge forward knocking her backwards. Sarah wrapped her arms around him, clinging, expecting to come crashing into the books and quite possibly smack hard against the table. Instead she became enveloped in a soft white cloud. She had fallen onto a bed.

Jareth was working the ties on the tunic. "I don't believe this shirt has ever been treated to such sights," he commented, his eyes dropping down.

Sarah remembered her lack of underwear. She let out a nervous, airy laugh. They had gone from zero to sixty quite fast; been transported from room to room even faster. She remembered how she had collided with him in the apartment, ready to give herself to him, ready to commit to a real relationship. Momentarily lost in her thoughts she had grown quite still, not reacting to his caresses.

Jareth pulled her close and rolled, pinning himself under her. She lay stretched out along his body, acutely aware of his heat. "I am still the same man, Sarah," he said after studying her expression. "I want you; I need you." His hand in her hair tightened, emphasizing his words. The hand in her hair pulled her near his face and he kissed and tormented her neck. "Say you want me," he told her. And then with more of a command, "Tell me you need me."

Sarah heard the words tumbling from her lips: she did want him and quite frankly was needing him. There had been several thoughtless mistakes along the way, but she had to hold on to some small rational part of herself. If she was going to do this… If. She was going to do this. Having never been with anyone before, she wasn't on any form of birth control and had never been one to travel with condoms in case of emergencies. "How does this work?" she whispered against his face.

Jareth's brow briefly pinched. "Ah, love making," he commented with a gleam, and then promptly offered, "I'll gladly teach you. I'm rather fond of-,"

She slipped a hand down his body, causing him to intake a breath in a low hiss."I know how it all works," she interrupted. Sarah smiled. "I meant are we to spend the evening using our hands or do you have other means well stocked and supplied?"

The implication clicked in his expression and he assured her he was prepared to be humanly responsible. Though, he added, he certainly wasn't opposed to her hands. "Well stocked and supplied- a very ambitious statement that," he then commented amused.

Sarah slid away from him and rested back on her bent legs. As she loosened the ties on the tunic she tucked away what he had said about being humanly responsible, wanting to eventually know what that had meant. Looking down at him, she very clearly saw Jareth's irises alter, becoming two dark buttons on his face. Predatory. Owl eyes, she realized with a thrill.

With deliberate slowness Sarah opened the tunic and brushed the material off her shoulders. "Aren't you feeling ambitious?" she asked coyly.

With the speed that both unnerved her and excited her, Sarah found herself flipped over and under him. Some where in the midst of limbs and sighs she heard him call her "my queen", the endearment followed by a sharp pain that hurt and pleased simultaneously. One moment sensual, the next aggressive she was carried away with his passion. She was equally being made love to, as much as she was making love with him.

…..

The white linens took on an ethereal glow in the sparse light, the darkened room creating the illusion that they were floating on an island. The two of them reclined together: her in the nook of his arm and Jareth against several pillows. She felt cradled, safe and protected.

Now that they had collided and were sated, Jareth seemed withdrawn again, returning to his somber mood. She stirred against him, running a hand over his chest. He stilled her hand with his own. After a moment, his hand patted her's and he asked, "Are you content?"

Sarah smiled and snuggled against him. "Very," she replied heartily.

"Is there anything more you desire?"

Sarah shifted to look up at him. There was nothing playful or teasing about him. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Is there anything you want?" he replied, reaching for her hair. "Name it. It's yours."

"Jareth I,"

He spoke over her, "Jewels? Wealth? Half my kingdom?"

"Whoa, now, hold on," she said. She tried to read his expression. Why was he making her such extravagant offers? Had he not found their love making satisfying? Was he offering her compensation? Sarah dismissed the thought. No. There had been a similar line of questioning in the library. "What's this about Jareth?"

"It's about your happiness," he said. "What will it take to make Sarah Williams happy? Is this enough?" His eyes, now once more their normal two tones, indicated the bed. He pulled her into a kiss, his body weight forcing her against the bed.

"I'm here, just like you always wanted," Sarah said, perplexed.

A small shake of his head. "Here. Yes, but will you stay?"

Sarah thought about the terms of the contract, the months spent with his alter persona, and how at every turn it had come back to her coming to the Underground and willingly being with him. She had fought it. Up until recently had only been a reluctant participant in the arrangement. The universe had poked and prodded them along though to this moment.

Was she happy? That word didn't seem to do justice to the feelings she had. Resigned? Too passive. She was indeed content. Perhaps that could be the same as happy.

"It could be like this always," he told her, stroking her.

Sarah took his face in her hands. "I don't want to leave," she said firmly. "Remember what you said the night of the dance, about making this work? I wouldn't be here, in bed with you, if I didn't want to try."

Some sort of resignation passed over his expression: his mouth pressed into a thin line and his brow creased. Sarah felt her gut tighten and the warmth in her middle suddenly gather.

"What are you not telling me?" she asked, her tone firm.

Jareth moved away from her and sat up. "Your father wished you away."

This wasn't new information. "Yes," she replied.

"As per the rules I had to offer him the chance to win you and your brother back. I am compelled to do my duty," he paused and struggled to take a breath. For moment he supported his head with a hand. "I went to do just that earlier today."

"And?"

Jareth looked down at her. He reminded her of everything they had just told one another: how he would do anything to make her happy, how she said she wanted to stay. When Sarah insisted he explain himself, she felt the familiar tickling in her conscience that there was some element to their new development she had missed. Jareth held her hand. "Your father is gone Sarah."

Sarah scrambled away from him. Gone. The word was not registering in her brain. Gone- dead? No. Gone- vanished, whereabouts unknown; that made more sense. She was off the bed and moving swiftly across the room. The floor was cold and it stung her bare feet and made her skin break out in goosebumps. The warmth in her middle would rather had stayed in the warm bed, with its equally warm occupant than be dashing naked across the room.

She reached the desk. The enchanted map of her city was still across the surface. No names hovered across its paper. Panic rising, Sarah spoke, "Robert Williams." His name in ink should appear within the apartment, though perhaps in a near by restaurant. She glanced back at Jareth: he sat on the bed, legs bent, watching her. "Robert Williams!" she repeated louder this time.

Her father's name never appeared.


	21. Chapter 21

For a long moment Sarah glared at the map. Her father was gone. Gone where? Streets, buildings, parks, restaurants- so many places to hide just within the city. Her eyes wandered back to the building that had held everyone's attention earlier in the day: the coven's residence. Karen disappeared every time she came near that place. That was where she needed to go. That was where she would find her father.

The skin on her back prickled and she shivered. The chill of the room was getting to her. She needed her clothes and then she needed to get going. Turning towards the bed she demanded to know where her things were. "My clothes!" she exclaimed to Jareth when he didn't answer as prompt as she wanted. Then she added, "We need to go."

From his place on the bed Jareth asked, "Go where?"

Sarah glanced near the foot of the bed. "To the coven of course," she said as if it were obvious. "They know what's going on. We will demand they return my father."

"We. So you still want my help?"

The lighting in the room had grown darker. Sarah stopped searching for the tunic or pants around the edge of the bed, unable to determine much in the gloom. She looked up at Jareth: he hadn't moved from the bed. The darkness, the shadows, she realized were responding to him. She had seen this demonstration before. "Of course I do," she replied. For a moment she considered coddling him, stroking his ego with extra attention to get him motivated. She couldn't bring herself to behave that way though. He needed to know that while she wanted his help, his recent choices were unacceptable. "Quit the dramatics and get me something to wear," she said.

From his side of the bed he made two robes appear. He handed her one. "Here."

Sarah put it on. "Not exactly the sort of thing one would wear to battle," she commented, then moving back to the desk she pulled her long hair over her shoulder and began braiding the strands.

Jareth joined her securing his own robe. "What is with you and suggesting violent things before breakfast?"

"It's no where near morning," she replied.

"True," Jareth admitted. "It's actually quite late at night."

For a few moments the two of them simply searched the map, their eyes avoiding the other. Sarah let the implications of Jareth's actions sink in: he had withheld information from her again; had seen fit not to trust her with the truth. Quite frankly, he had panicked.

As Monty Jones it had been so much easier to trust him. And why? Because she had assumed that Monty was genuine, that he had no ulterior motives. He had been a compassionate listener and concerned for her safety. But he's the same man, she thought to herself shifting on her cold feet. As both personas he had seen fit to hide things from her. While it helped reconcile the two, it certainly did not add points to his character.

You're no saint either, came the thought. Sarah was uncertain if it came from the warmth she carried with her or her conscious. Who goes to a dance with another man? Who disregards sound advice and runs off into a potentially dangerous situation without protection? Regardless of whether it was Monty or Jareth you did things without consulting his feelings, without regard to how it might affect him. And now you've gone and slept with him because you just-wanted-something-to-go-right. That's a real mature reason. Sarah decided they both sucked at this relationship.

She glanced at Jareth across the desk. But if they both wanted to make it work… She had also told him that she loved him. That despite his shortcomings, as a man, as someone who peaked her interest, as someone she felt she could lose control with, she loved him. She cleared her throat. "What do we do?" she asked.

He held her eyes for a moment. "My counsel would be to do nothing, for the moment," he added. "While I agree that the coven is the prime suspect, we must proceed with a degree of caution. One rogue witch does not signify a complete breakdown of ancient customs."

Sarah sighed frustrated that she did not know or comprehend all the ins and outs of this new world. "I thought fae were superior to witches," she said remembering something he had said to one of his goblins earlier. "Is that just a matter of magic or is it a class thing as well?"

"I see where your logic is headed," he replied. "We do not lord over or govern any of those who practice witchcraft."

"So it's a matter of ego?"

Jareth scowled.

Sarah raised her hands apologetically. "I'm just trying to get a feel for how things are. They could have my dad Jareth," she then added distressed.

"My ilk have always considered ourselves superior," he explained. "Natural energies, our bodies and nature working in communion- we like the way we operate. There is something unsettling about requesting help from a demonic force in order to achieve a spell. Even those that claim to do good magic, must ask of it from something else."

Once Mr. Proodle had been in charge of restoring a copy of the Bible which held several reliefs depicting events therein. One had been a man supposedly possessed by a demon who called himself Legion: the man's face had been one of torment, eyes rolling back in his head; the demon, or demons as the name suggested, was distorted and twisted, reveling in the man's torture. Nearly a Rossetti goblin forcing fruit on a young girl. Sarah swallowed hard. "And you were aware of all of this when you made the contract with Karen?"

Jareth cleared his throat. "Perhaps it was not the most prudent decision," he admitted. Sarah saw him cock his head to one side regarding her in the soft light. "But I'd gladly take the risk again to see you thus bathed in moon light."

A flush spread over her chest. "I believe we're digressing from the matter at hand," said Sarah, not wanting to be distracted from finding her father. "How do we proceed?"

Jareth twirled a finger in the air and a crystal appeared. Sarah felt her breath catch- he had not shown her his crystals since reentering her life. She had nearly forgotten about them. He set it in the air, floating on its invisible supports, and peered at it: a clock face was visible. "A quarter to eleven," he commented. "I'm expecting Alistair back at any moment. I should want his report before moving forward. Come." And he turned from the desk and moved towards the washroom and closet.

"What are you doing?"

"I for one have no desire to appear half naked in front of our old acquaintance. What we do with each others bodies ought to remain between us only- don't you agree?" He was through the doorway before she could say anything more.

Sarah followed. "And that's another thing: who is Alistair? You told me that he didn't work for you." She paused at the vanity unsure where he had gone: she could hear water sloshing. Turning towards the right she entered the washroom: Jareth was already waist deep in the recessed tub, splashing the water over his arms.

"Alistair," he began his reply. "does not work for me. He is what you would call a volunteer." He descended further and submerged his head. When he emerged again, he regarded Sarah standing at the edge of water through his wet strands of hair. "You really should join me," he suggested.

Sarah's body was greatly tempted to do just that. But her mind and her libido were at odds again. She edged the tub, moving away from the descending steps. "What exactly did he volunteer for?" she asked.

"Protection duty. Alistair learned of your whereabouts and your impending return to the Underground, and volunteered to keep an eye on you."

"My honor guard," said Sarah.

"A self-appointed, self-imposed one. Alistair was adamant that you be watched over. In the end I am grateful for that fastidious little man's dedication to you. We both owe him and that nose of his our gratitude for sniffing out the clay man."

All right, so he hadn't lied about the connection between him and Alistair. But he had stayed true to his brand of truth: only revealing what he thought necessary. How could he admire her stubbornness and strength one moment and then not think her qualified to handle stark truths the next?

Jareth moved to edge of the tub and gazed up at her. He managed an expression that was some how both contrite and adoring. Puppy dog eyes, thought Sarah in a moment of weakness. He cajoled her again about getting in the water. She simply refused to answer. He was feeling far too playful to suit her current mood. This time she was prepared for one of his swift movements, so when his hand darted out to snatch at her robe, she dodged him. He was going to have to learn that he couldn't just beguile her whenever she caught him in a half truth or called him out on being too controlling.

"Sarah," he hissed from the water.

"I shouldn't want Alistair to walk in on us," she said over her shoulder as she walked away. "Oh and I expect some practical clothing to wear as well."

Dressed in bluejeans and her tank top once more, Sarah felt a bit more grounded. Letting go of all control and giving herself over to Jareth had been freeing: her mind had calmed and cleared at the climax. It had also been an escape. She had purposefully allowed herself to get lost in his body, his scent, and given herself over to his intentions and desires. Now with the contract fulfilled the two of them would have, she supposed, an eternity of physical encounters. But choosing to concentrate on her father, instead of reveling in their bodies, just made sense.

Not for the first time- what with the "boyfriend" Jareth had said she should try to get proving to be him in disguise and the sex, the magic and goblins, her stepmother being a witch and quite possibly holding her dad hostage- Sarah thought how far from normal her life was.

She rubbed at her eyes, they were tired and dry. Jareth joined her at the desk and the map dressed in a combination of Underground and Above attire. There was a knock at the door.

"You may find Alistair a bit altered," he said with care.

Sarah looked towards the door. The first thing she noticed was Alistair had shrunk in stature and then immediately after that the amount of hair covering his body. Her boss had always been meticulous about his grooming habits- every facial hair trimmed and waxed; every follicle on his head in its place. Everything about his current appearance was in a word: bushy. Part of her was relieved to find him still in a waist coat and his watch chain gleaming as it dangled. That and his mustache was indeed still stiffly waxed.

And through all the shock of his altered appearance Sarah couldn't shake the feeling that she should know him; that on her previous visit they had crossed paths. "Alistair?" she asked, curious.

"My lady," he answered and bowed.

She moved towards him. One of his eyes was covered with a black eye patch. "No," she corrected herself. "Dydimus."

"Sir Alistair Dydimus," he said with a faint smile. "Do you recall me Sarah, my dear?" There was hope in his voice; a longing that she did indeed know him as both the book keeper and the knight who had stormed the castle with her. "Proodle is only my human name."

His arms lifted tentatively in greeting and Sarah found herself fiercely hugging him. It felt so different! For one she had to kneel down and then all the extra fur made him softer. "I am so glad it's you," Sarah told him.

"Let me look at you. You are very much all in one piece." He patted her arms and allowed her to stand up. "This heart of mine have been given one too many scares here as of late."

"Alistair," came Jareth's voice.

"Jareth," he returned the greeting. "I see you wasted very little time in securing Sarah in the Underground." His eye drifted over the room.

Sarah followed his gaze and realized with a sudden flush that the bed across the room was still unmade and rumpled. That Jareth's hair was still drying and her own appearance was haphazard. It was more than apparent what the two of them had done very recently. She heard Jareth chuckled.

"To the matter at hand," said Jareth turning towards the map. "What have you to report Alistair?"

Alistair sniffed. "Very little I'm afraid. Whatever is in that corner building, it's occupants do not want anyone snooping. Even their drainage system had protection spells."

"But not fae magic?" pressed Jareth.

"No. I'm afraid I am not entirely sure what it smells like," admitted Alistair twirling a tip of his mustache.

Sarah caught Jareth's eye and they both nodded. "As tempted as I am to ask how you can smell the difference in magic, I must admit your discovery comes as little surprise," said Sarah. "We have good reason to suspect it is a coven."

"A witches' gathering?" asked Alistair. "The combined magic of several practitioners would explain why we lose the witch there. I don't like it," he then said.

"I can't say any of us are thrilled about it," agreed Jareth. "It seems I am going to have to pay a formal visit." After catching Sarah's eye again, he corrected himself, "We will make the visit."

Alistair bristled. "No. I don't want Sarah going any where near that place. Twice now she has been compromised because of this Karen Williams. I will not just allow her to walk into their midst."

Jareth raised an eyebrow and nodded to show his sympathies. "But she has also proven that she can handle herself. She snapped Alistair."

"I don't care what sort of awareness she has come into," returned Alistair his voice raising. "I don't want,"

"...I believe I am capable," interrupted Jareth.

"...More than once now you have,"

"That's an unfair example,"

For a moment Sarah listened to them argue: it was rather satisfying to hear someone else challenge Jareth. But they were discussing her and what she was capable of, right in front of her. "Hey!" she exclaimed gaining their attention. "I think I know myself well enough to know what I can and can't handle. Now, I know how tricky and quite frankly scary Karen can be, but," she took a deep breath. "She keeps threatening my family and I want to put an end to it all. Surely there's some precautions that can be taken to help everyone involved be safe?"

"Sarah my dear," began Alistair, his tone perturbed. "after everything- the contract, the clay man, and being kidnapped- you really want to just walk into her lair?"

"It's not like I'm going in alone," said Sarah. "She has always tried to separate me from you or from Jareth; she tried to do the same to my family."

She was not broken. She was not weak. She had run a Labyrinth. She had faced a fae king. This witch was not going to intimidate her. She looked at Alistair and then she looked at Jareth.

"We do this together," she added. "Because we trust each other."

Jareth mentioned using the shadows when necessary and Alistair insisted she wear an adder stone. This latter element was infused with a protective charm that would prevent Sarah from leaving the human plane. "I'm not taking any chances with someone who can call on a demon," Alistair had insisted, his whiskers twitching.

The final touch was from Jareth: he had told her to hang the adder stone under her sweater, and then added an additional leather strap that held a smaller, daintier version of his crescent moon pendant. "They should think twice before messing with this royal symbol," he had said, his fingers caressing the shape. He had then nodded and smiled. His own pendant was clearly visible with his leather jacket unzipped.

Sarah felt the cool, smooth surface of the adder stone resting against her bare chest, and then occasional thump of the heavier pendant as it moved with every step she took. The street she walked was gray in the early morning light. She could already hear people beginning their work day- trash cans clanging, delivery trucks with their backup warnings beeping, and the occasional objecting meow of an alley cat being shooed away. The kitchen of the Indian food cafe was already bustling with preparations- Sarah caught the faint smell of familiar spices.

The building on the corner was just as nondescript as she remembered it being. Before approaching the door, Jareth stopped her and pointed up at the apex of the arch that surrounded the entrance where a five pointed star was carved. "That's certainly not the Star of David," he commented. "Though for some reason most humans simply assume the number of points. Perhaps it's far less disconcerting to assume it's benign."

Witches, clay man, and goblins- oh my! Thought Sarah sardonically as Jareth reached for the door.

She wasn't sure what exactly she should be bracing herself for: cobwebs and cauldrons? Women in pointy hats and men in long robes with obscured faces? No. It couldn't possibly be so cliche. Still Sarah was expecting at least something moody in blacks and reds, and was surprised to find a room done minimally with white padded chairs and a reception desk made out of glass. A woman in a brightly floral dress looked up from a computer. "Good morning. May I help you?" she asked.

"Yes. We need to speak with your boss," said Jareth amiably.

"Do you have an appointment?" Her fingers were already poised over the keys of computer, ready to pull up the calendar application.

"No."

"Then I'm sorry, but Ms. Colette cannot see anyone without an appointment. She's booked several weeks out," the woman's fingers punched several keys.

Jareth cleared his throat. " _Magicae_ ," he said and that word alone stopped any further objections from the receptionist.

She stood up from the desk. "Your calling card." She held out her hand expectantly. Jareth ran a hand over his pendant and then produced a white business card with a printed rendition of the half moon design. "Excuse me one moment." And she left through a side door.

Sarah leaned near. "What was that about?" she asked.

" _Magicae_ \- it's the Latin word for magic. Rather like a password to gain access to the club."

The receptionist reappeared and told them to follow her through the side door. They went down a short hallway, just as business and sterile as the reception room, and ended up outside two pine doors. "In here," she said ushering them into the office space.

A woman in a blush pink pant suit and short cropped red hair looked up expectantly as they entered. She dismissed the receptionist. In her hand she held the white card. "A member of the crescent house hold," she commented. "I am Ms. Angela Colette, head mistress here. Who exactly am I addressing?"

"The Goblin King and his consort." He inclined his head in greeting.

At her desk Angela Colette's eyebrows rose up in brief surprise. Sarah felt her gaze shift to her own person, as if expecting something, a reaction or some word spoken. Sarah resisted the ridiculous urge to curtsy and nodded her head as Jareth had done. "Please sit," Ms. Colette offered.

"Does the name Williams mean anything to you?" asked Jareth as he took a seat in chair near the desk.

"Perhaps."

"I have reason to believe that she is known here."

"What of it?"

"I need to know her whereabouts."

Ms. Colette scoffed. "I am not about to reveal the whereabouts of any of my members, to a fairy no less."

Jareth's eyes regarded the floor for a solid thirty seconds before he focused on the woman at the desk again. "Karen Williams was rejected from the fold at least two years ago. I would hardly call her a member."

The white card twitched back and forth between her fingers. When she spoke her voice was low and terse, "How does any of this concern you?"

"Were you aware that this Williams- Karen Williams- had made a contract with a fae king?" He pressed on before she could respond, "That this contract did not go as she planned, and as a result she has been seeking out some twisted form of retribution? A desire to extract revenge upon those who she holds responsible for the change in her life style."

Ms. Colette snapped the white card against the top of her desk. "Let me guess: you are that fae king?"

Jareth smiled, humorless and thin.

Ms. Colette sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Williams has always been ambitious," she admitted. "To a fault." There was a hint of annoyance as if she had been exercising a good deal of forbearance when it came to Karen. "It is true that about two years ago I dismissed her from our number. She had become erratic and obsessed with this contract of hers. Care to share exactly what she has done to you?"

"Threatened the life of my payment and attempted to harm those under my protection," explained Jareth and watched as she scowled and sighed. "Care to share exactly how she plans to rejoin the fold again?"

shook her head. "I have no idea."

Sarah exclaimed, "Now hold on: we know she has been here."

Ms. Colette's eyes again evaluated her as if she expected something more. Her eyes moved from her face to the pendent and back again. "I admit she has been in some contact, but I have made no offers of reconciliation. If she's doing anything, she's doing so of her own accord."

"I need to know where she is," said Jareth.

"No," answered Ms. Colette.

"She has broken several sacred codes, Angela," said Jareth his voice rising. "I will not tolerate such hostile actions."

"She still a sister, a fellow witch and we deal with our own in our house. Give me specifics and I will investigate."

Jareth stood and reaching a finger out, tapped the white card. "I need to know if she is holding this man."

"Her ex-husband?" she asked surprised.

"I want him found."

From her seat Sarah added, "Alive."

Jareth towered over the desk. "You will find him Angela. I don't think we want our superiors involved in this ordeal."

Back out on the sidewalk again Sarah breathed easier. She had to admit though that leaving everything, the fate of her father, in the hands of the coven absolutely rackled her nerves. Plus she was fairly certain that that Angela Colette knew more than she had revealed. Like knowing precisely where Karen was. "So that's it?" she asked Jareth as she hurried to keep up with him. "We just leave it to them? Trust that Colette will find Karen and my father?"

"Of course not." He stopped at a street corner and allowed her to catch up. "Angela Colette may tend her own house, but the outside," He let the sentence hang in the air. "I will make this right Sarah," he then told her. He leaned forward and kissed her.


	22. Chapter 22

_I_

"Now, I for one am famished. We have yet to breakfast this morning," said Jareth glancing around the neighborhood. He took Sarah by the hand and began to walk.

It was amazing how something as common as walking could weave a relaxing spell. Sarah fell into step with him, enjoying the cool air, and the warm sun that was cresting the buildings. This simple act was something she had missed as of late; the only thing to really be worried about was an anxious motorist ignoring a pedestrian's right of way. A far easier thing to handle than many of the magical elements of this new world she was learning to navigate.

Before she knew it they were approaching an apartment door. The question of where they were died on her lips as Jareth smiled and ushered her into the apartment of Monty Jones. His place. The small couch along one wall and the bookshelves crammed along the parallel wall. "Here?" she questioned.

He shut the door. "I owe you a better morning after," he said.

"We didn't sleep together here," she pointed out.

"Really? I seem to recall sharing my bed with some warm body that night." The grin he gave her was nothing short of salacious. "A rather aggressive female, whom I had to fight off once or twice." He tossed his leather jacket on the couch and moved towards the small kitchen. "Honestly I love coming here. No goblins. No chickens underfoot. I can make whatever food I want. Read a book. Watch TV."

Activities that a human would take for grated were like a respite for the king. This apartment was his sanctuary where he could be just… well, just a man. Perhaps more like the one Sarah had fallen in love with. She warned herself that comparing the two or yearning for one over the other could be dangerous and grossly unfair. He was the same man. A little apartment time might relax him, but magic still ran through his veins and he still wore a crown, even if she couldn't see it.

The kettle was boiling on the small stove and the french press she had seen that fateful morning was once more out on the counter. She watched him putter around: creamer from the fridge, plates on the counter, and jam from a cabinet. All the while he hummed a tune. She leaned against the counter. "I know that song," she commented. "At least the tune."

Jareth asked for the little green canister on the counter behind her. From inside it he measured out scoops of coffee grounds. "I used to sing a lot," he replied. The kettle whistled and he retrieved it. "I sang that particular one to you once."

For a moment the two of them watched the coffee steep. Sarah did remember that song: it had been part of the enchantment he had given her when she had taken a bite of the peach all those years ago. The one memory she had never really liked discussing. It had suggested a side of herself that at fifteen had been frightening: that one could be completely consumed and obsessed with another. Nothing else had mattered in that enchantment, except him. She had admitted this to Alistair one evening and then had forced herself to never think on it again. Even now on the cusp of eighteen, standing in a small kitchen next to the man who had sparked these strong emotions, Sarah found the same feelings disconcerting.

He plated her some toast with jam and filled a cup with coffee. "Do you remember it?" he then asked.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah." She lifted the adder stone and removing it from her neck she set it on the counter.

"I've often wondered what you were thinking in that moment as we danced," Jareth then said. "Just how beguiled were you? Were you even really tempted?"

The toast felt dry in her throat. Sarah took a drink of coffee to help wash it down, only to realize too late that the liquid was still too hot. She sputtered and coughed. Her tongue felt rough now. "Is that what you meant by asking was there anything I had one to encourage your advances?" she asked when she had recovered herself. "In the library, you asked me that once. And yes, I was dang near tempted to give in."

"But your brother," he prompted.

"I couldn't leave him."

"I wouldn't have really turned him into a goblin."

"At the time I didn't know that. Had everyone trusted me with the truth, how things really were, who knows what might have happened differently. Besides, that song wasn't really about love. You just needed me to fulfill the contract."

"Ouch," came the single reply.

"What?" She held her toast away from her mouth. "You knew you were in love with me that night?" She knew she sounded incredulous.

Jareth's face was pinched. Under his breath he muttered something about uncomfortable details. "It was a fae song," he said his face relaxing. "I didn't actually write it. My magic did."

"Come again?"

"When I began to work that spell, I allowed my magic to weave the appropriate words; my magic and the universe working together."

"Are you saying that the universe knew back than, at that moment, we were going to eventually be this." She waved her toast at the two of them.

His brow rose up. "It certainly would appear so."

"Have I ever actually had a choice in any of this? Is there any free will?"

"Of course there is," he countered. "You could have continued to fight and defy me, and eventually become a sour, old maid doomed to be my unwilling companion."

Her eyes narrowed and her lips pulled to the side."And you would have become a crotchety, forlorn old fae stuck with me for all eternity." Her hand went to lift the weight of the moon pendant.

"When one looks at it from that perspective, the universe seems to have things in order." Reaching out his fingers took hold of the pendant preventing her from removing it. "Though we don't have to worry about that now do we?"

"Oh you expect me never to defy you again, is that it?"

"Oh I expect it," he assured her.

Sarah suspected that they had gone from discussing their past, to flirting; that Jareth wanting her to be difficult was all foreplay to him. She had to admit the verbal sparing did get the blood pumping. "And I suppose I should continue to expect you to be impetuous?"

Their noses rubbed. "Definitely," he answered and gave the pendant a tug, bringing her right up against him.

Sarah felt herself being drawn towards him; wanting him. His lips were soft and his hands were coaxing. This was how she had initially imagined being with him: a hint of domestic and a dash of destiny. They teased each other onto the couch and made love on the narrow cushions, slow and sweet. They laid on their sides, legs and arms curled around the other possessively. Sarah felt her pendant rub against the sensitive skin of her breasts and looked down to find his and hers tangled together.

As he dozed Sarah worked the pendant free of its male counterpart. It meant something, her wearing this symbol. She was his, payment delivered and accepted. Though she had come of her own free will and had found she enjoyed being with him, there was a lingering element of indignity. Was wearing this rather like a branding mark or a wedding band? She felt the smooth surface and edges.

Together they then showered, and even mentioned what food they would like to order in if time allowed. It did not though: there was a knocking at the apartment door as soon they were dressed once more. Jareth had been tucking in his shirt, he paused and looked at her, his expression one of question: who knew they were here?

More knocking, incessant. "Open the door!" called a voice.

Jareth did. "Alistair," he said some what surprised.

"There you are," came the reply, rather grumpy. "I had half a mind to simply poof myself into your sanctuary."

"And you would have forfeited your life old friend," said Jareth making room for him to pass.

"Don't go off grid on me in the middle of important happenings and I shan't entertain such ideas," snapped Alistair.

From in the kitchen Sarah had warmed another kettle of water. She would make a fresh batch of coffee. "Good morning," she called out, though his tone suggested it was not the case for him.

Alistair returned the greeting in a distracted fashion and then turned back to Jareth. "Whatever did you say to the head of the coven?" he demanded.

"I'll have you know I was on my best behavior," replied Jareth.

"Really? Because they're on lock down. The whole building has encased its self in a protective barrier. No one has gone in and certainly no one has gone out!" Alistair's mustached twitched and he sniffed loudly.

"Whatever for?" questioned Jareth.

"It occurred shortly after you left. I had several of the goblins watching exits and I myself was in the next building monitoring any use of magic. You two left and-," He threw up his hands indicating the sudden change.

Sarah poured coffee into a cup and added cream and sugar. She could think of only one reason why a coven would go to extreme measures: they were protecting one of their own. She handed Alistair the cup, and voiced her conclusion out loud. "She was there the whole time," she said.

Alistair once again commented on how much he did not like the situation. He said, "We may not like each other, our kind at odds, but there has always been civility."

"Not always," commented Jareth with a wary look.

"In more recent times though," amended Alistair. "Refusing the request of a royal household and withholding an offender of ancient customs- it is not heard of any more."

Jareth paced the room. "I don't like it either," he admitted. "If this is the path they are choosing, it makes little sense. I can understand Karen's frustration at having her life completely altered," he paused hearing Sarah's scoff. "Her idea of returning the favor was to cause damage to my life. But the whole coven protecting her? That will gain the attention of our superiors."

"The witch could very well be the new precedent," said Alistair.

The way they spoke about such an event sounded full of doom and gloom. Sarah perched on the arm of the couch. If the main difference was in how one acquired magic- one from the universe, the other from demons- then a shift in norms between them could very well open the door for some unpleasant events.

She searched within herself and stoked the warmth in her middle, wanting to control something, to ground herself. She pulled it and stretched it, sending one towards her head, another towards her feet. As it raced along her veins, she calmed. Perhaps, just perhaps, they were jumping to conclusions. What if Angela Colette was being true to her word and simply tending her own, finding the truth out from Karen, and administering her own punishment? It was a big if. But far better than the alternative.

Then there was her poor father. Sarah felt the ghosting of the bonds she had been trapped with inside that sick, floral bedroom. Briefly she caught the scent of damp earth and felt her heart lurch inside her. A hand on her shoulder started her out of her thoughts. Jareth leaned near. "Breathe," he told her and encouraged her to pull the warmth towards her lungs.

"My father," she whispered.

Jareth's lips thinned and he took a deep breath. He said, "Alistair are we certain that Karen went to the coven last night? That, that indeed, was the last time anyone saw her?"

Alistair took a drink of coffee before answering, "That is what Blot and Squeak reported."

For a moment Jareth stood next to her, his hand a comforting weight on her shoulder. She looked up at him: his mismatched eyes had gone far away. When he focused on her face, his hand reached up and gently stroked her hair. "Perhaps there are a few customs and traditions I could ignore as well," he said.

"Jareth," came Alistair's voice, his tone held a warning.

"I am not going to declare war," replied Jareth. "But I have a new duty that is far superior to the law."

 _II_

Jareth began summoning goblins to the small apartment. Groups of five appeared four different times, each group receiving the same order: gather in front of the coven's building. Each were instructed to use their glamour, to remain invisible until told otherwise by their king. After the last group left he pulled two spheres from the air: into one of these he would work a containment spell, should it come to using magic; the second he would store extra energy in, as a back up in case things turned ugly. Holding them against his chest, he told Sarah he would need at least an hour to fully charge them and then perhaps another hour to recover his strength. He ordered Alistair to stay with her in the living room. He would use the bedroom to do what he needed.

He closed the door and sat cross legged on the bed. The first spell was easy enough: he pulled on the different colors that floated just beyond the natural depth of vision. The second one required his own warmth from his own body plus the energy around him. Time ticked by. He felt his brow moisten. Then his chest felt damp. The warmth in his own middle became less and less. At the point where he began feeling his fingers grow cold and his toes numb, he began to let go of the colors. With a sigh, he collapsed back onto the bed.

At some point he knew he fell asleep. His body twitched ever so slightly and taking a deep breath he felt his midsection warm and then flood his body. It had worked. He couldn't recall the last time he had stored so much of himself. Wait- had he ever? The door opened and he heard soft foot falls. Fingers caressed his face. Sarah. The warmth he felt doubled and intensified. The sigh she let out was a little too forlorn. "I'm not dead," he commented out loud keeping his eyes closed.

"Just concerned," she replied. "I didn't know you could do that, store your energy for later."

He hummed and let his eyes open. "It's not something we fae do often. It renders us a little defenseless."

Her green eyes took him in. Did she still question his intentions? Did she still not believe everything he had told her as Monty? Perhaps he needed to make love to her differently. No, surely, he had been quite satisfactory in that department. When he got her father back, when he made her family safe, then there would be absolutely no question about his feelings towards her. His fingers felt along the bed and found the crystal.

"Is that it?" she asked nodding at it.

"Yes." He allowed her to hold the sphere. It's faint illumination made her skin glow. "It's well worth the risk," he said and then added, "For you."

She shook her head and her lips smiled, tight, crinkling the skin around her eyes. Ghads, he loved her. "You crazy fae," she murmured leaning near and kissing him.

Jareth turned his head away and with an airy laugh proclaimed, "I have nothing extra woman! I need all my remaining reserves." She laughed.

She helped him sit up and then got him a glass of water. They both sobered up and felt the grave weight of the situation once again. Jareth stood and snapped his fingers, changing into the now familiar regal attire with hard leather armor and high collared cape. With another snap his cycle shaped pendant appeared on his chest. Sarah's fingers touched the symbol. Jareth found hers and returned the gesture.

"Let's go get your father back," he said.

 _AUs: I know, I know another cliff hanger. I am working on it! But I have to leave you readers wanting more, don't I? To get you coming back for more? ;-)_

 _Several more episodes of Cheers (I do love Coach) and perhaps a few more readings of some Ray Bradbury shorts and I'll have everything sussed and sorted._


	23. Chapter 23

_I_

The sun shown down on the busy street. Pedestrians bustled along the sidewalks intent on their errands and jobs. On the asphalt cars revved and honked, adding another layer of noise. Oblivious, all of them, to the creatures that had gathered in front of the door with the pentagram. Sarah realized that despite being scattered in a wide radius people avoided walking into any of the goblins. It was as if some instinct told them to avoid the spot and their feet altered course just enough to avoid collision. Some of the goblins rolled their eyes at the lack of interest from these mundane humans that shared their world; others grinned and appeared eager.

In her light sweater Sarah felt warm. She squinted up at the sky. The weather had changed just as Jareth had predicted- the last snow of spring had happened and there would not be any more. Squaring her shoulders she stepped near to stand next to him. In the few seconds it had taken to go from the apartment to the street his eye markings had returned and an electric energy seemed to radiate from his body.

In her mind she tried to get a handle on her anxiety and use the warmth from her center to help her concentrate. She even tried to think of any books that may have passed through her hands about faes battling or how to perform magical combat- anything that would help. Jareth had told her to stay close and should either crystal sphere that he had prepared come into play, she was to grasp the cycle pendant tightly, and duck under his cape. The shadows would see her to safety. She struggled not to balk at his orders, knowing it was sound advice. She had no magic of her own.

Alistair joined them in human form. Around his person Sarah recognized the haze of glamour that hid his true form. Curious she glanced around at the goblins- they too had the same aura. Did other humans see a slight shimmer where one stood, or were they disguised as something more common like pigeons?

Concentrating she looked back to the building. It too had an aura, an encasing of magic, but this one lacked any flashes of color as she was used to seeing around Jareth and Alistair. Instead it was bright and rather painful to focus on, rather like the sun its self. "Witchcraft," stated Jareth glancing at her. "Its smell, its appearance, its source- all different from our own. Stay close."

He took several purposeful strides forward, raised his arms, and snapped his fingers; a simple gesture that generated a loud, reverberating boom that shook the street. A light wind followed, blowing around them. Then all was still. Jareth signaled for one of the groups of five goblins to approach. "Burn sage - around the perimeter. Go!"

Next to her Alistair whispered, "He is attempting to heal the area, purge their magic."

The pungent scent of the sage came at once. Sarah was convinced some passerby had to know they were all present. A man passed near her though without a glance or even a scrunch of the nose.

Her attention was drawn back to Jareth as she heard him intoning words she had never heard before, "Birch and alder, rowan berry and blackberry, eventide and dawn; the House of the Crescent Moon rises!" Goosebumps broke out on her legs. In front of them the magic shimmered and glared brightly as if reacting badly to the assault. The three of them exchanged glances.

The goblins that had burned the sage came galloping back in uneven strides. The ones behind Sarah, Alistair, and Jareth grumbled and hissed. Sarah glanced around: they teetered on their feet, making false lunges in agitation. One of them grumbled the word witches and spat on the ground. They were restless in their anticipation. Sarah shared their sentiments. She wanted to rush forward, rip the door from its hinges, and go tearing through the building looking for her father. She kept repeating her promise to stay close to Jareth's side over and over again in her mind. She would not do anything foolish.

She had just noticed an odd tangy taste in her mouth and had caught a whiff of ozone, a building of electrical energy when the bright case surrounding the building dimmed and then vanished. Alistair let out a bent up breath through his nose. One of Jareth's arms reached around, poised as if ready to shove Sarah behind him. For a moment she regarded his gloved hand and then made the decision to intertwine her fingers with his.

His body started and his arm jerked with hers though when the door to the building opened. The secretary from early in the morning stepped out into the sun light. "I have orders to ask you to stand down," she stated business like. "And for you to join us inside."

Jareth made no move to accept the offer. "Where is Karen Williams?" he asked.

The secretary took in the scene: goblins, a king, and two accompanying persons who, for all she knew, could be powerful practitioners. Sarah saw her tongue dart out, licking at her lower lip. After a moment she said, "We have what are you seeking. Please, come with me."

"Alistair," Jareth said turning slightly aside. "Keep everyone's veil down, but remain on guard."

Inside they passed through the same level of clinical cleanliness that had been there that morning. The practical commercial carpet muffled their foot steps as together they followed the receptionist through the same side door and the same hallway, yet this time instead of entering another office space, she led them to a completely different set of double doors. The handlesets to these doors were curved and darkly polished; the pentagram symbol etched onto the metal's surface.

Sarah worked her mouth trying to ease the sudden onset of dryness. On a deep intuition level she knew that behind these doors was the room that her and Tori had caught a glimpse of once.

The receptionist clicked the lock and the doors swung back revealing red and gold Persian style rugs, leather winged back chairs, and dark oak tables. The room was arranged to draw the occupants attention to the far side where several chairs were elevated on a dais. Behind this was the long and massive tapestry with the inverted triangle and goat's head, hanging from ceiling to floor.

Various men and women sat in the chairs, dressed in casual business attire, observing her and Jareth as they entered. Sarah felt their eyes evaluating and critiquing their every movement; watching for some inferior fae mistake. Afraid that her fear and anger would manifest in timid movements or cause her to stumble, she worked the warmth from her center. She needed its security to steady her feet and lift her head high. When the warmth reached her eyes, Sarah had to hold her breath for a beat: perched on every shoulder of every occupant was a small figure. At first she thought they were goblins that had infiltrated the premises and were awaiting Jareth's commands. She let her eyes linger on a few: she found them to be dark amber in skin tone and bald. Demons, came the realization. A demon for every witch. Quickly she made a rough count: twelve in all. Her heart thumped loudly.

Looking towards the dais she recognized Angela Colette in her pink suit. Behind her and slightly to the left dressed in a white blouse and a navy blue skirt, sat the strawberry blonde head of Karen Williams. Each woman also had a small reddish imp clinging to their shoulders. Her stepmother's icy blue eyes were boring into her face. Her demonic companion bared its teeth. Sarah felt her jaw tighten and her teeth clench. With an effort she met that steely gaze.

Ms. Colette inclined her head. "Your majesty, thank you so much for acquiescing and joining us."

One of Jareth's eyebrows quirked up. "Our demands have not changed, Angela," he replied firmly. "I see that you have the witch in question: release her to me and we shall leave your coven in peace."

"I explained to you just this morning that we deal with our own," began Angela.

"That one is mine," retorted Jareth.

"The council has decided on her punishment-,"

" _In honorem magicae_ ," interjected Jareth. "Honor over magic. Your prejudices are preventing me from restoring honor and order to my house."

"And your prejudices are preventing you from doing the honorable thing and showing mercy," returned Ms. Coeltte. "She has been adequately reprimanded."

Sarah felt the fine hairs on her arms stand on end and the hair on the back of her neck rise up. A shadow in the far corner of the room flickered. A demon or two teetered on their human perches. The level of tension in the room had just become palpable.

Mercy, she thought in disbelief. After everything Karen has done they want us to show mercy? Surely she could name her terms regarding her punishment; get some sort of guarantee that Karen would not, that she could not ever do her or her family harm again? The months of tension she had already endured! She could not fathom living out the rest of her days looking over her shoulder waiting for another attack or spell or kidnapping or clay man.

When Jareth spoke again, he sounded strained, "She has my consort's father."

Ms. Coletter turned and nodded towards one of the people sitting the closest. A man stood up and left through the heavy doors. A moment later there was the shuffling of feet. Sarah glanced back and saw her father being brought in. His eyes were wide and frightened; his face pale and scruffy. He still wore the tshirt and sweatpants he had been favoring as of late. Sarah felt her chest heave in a sharp breath quickly followed by the sting of tears. The sound caught Robert's attention. "Sarah!" he exclaimed and broke away from the escort to embrace her. For a moment they clung to the other until she softly heard her name again, except this time it was from Jareth. She managed to return to his side while her father held her about her shoulders.

"See, he has been returned," said Ms. Colette, as if this act erased or eased everything prior.

Sarah found Karen's eyes again- her own eyes filled with the warmth she carried with her and she felt as if she could shoot fiery darts at this woman, this witch. She wanted to be able to conjure her own spell and deal out her own justice. Next to her, she felt her father slump ever so slightly. She focused on him, giving him her strength, giving him her courage, her love. "Karen," she heard him whisper hoarsely.

"Dad?" she questioned him ."Are you alright?"

Robert scanned the room looking for his ex-wife. "Karen, how could you?" he asked, his question hanging over the assembly. Sarah tried to sooth him. On the dais, Karen remained silent.

With a dismissive gesture Ms. Colette said, "Take what is yours and be gone from here fairy. Our business is done."

Jareth encouraged Robert to turn about and for both of them to head towards the door. Sarah felt anxious to turn her back on the room filled as it were with the witches and demons. Something still felt heavy in the air. _Too easy, too easy_ , played a stray thought over and over in her head. She tried to pass it off as nothing more than the distaste the two races felt for the other. Her father needed rest and by this time Toby had to be acting out. She just needed to get her family back together. _Too easy, too easy_ , the thought came again.

As she supported her father and made to pass Jareth, she heard him speak some closing remark; it was one of displeasure and not forgetting this contemptuous demonstration. She had maybe gone five steps when an odd fluctuation in her external and internal temperature occurred: her face and hands turned bitingly cold, while the warmth in her middle suddenly flared molten hot. Glancing back at Jareth she saw his cape flare out in a fluttering of shadows, while his right hand shot out into the air. Beyond the tips of his fingers she saw Karen rise to her feet, the imp on her shoulder racing down her arm. Were they being attacked or was Jareth attacking a farewell demonstration of his power?

No. That made no sense. He had no intention of starting a war. The goal had been achieved: her father was safe. That and the faces of those in the assembly were a collective shock, focused on the dais. "No!" Karen shrieked. "You're not going to leave!"

From his palm Jareth materialized one of his crystals and sent it flying through the air- its thin membrane shattered, raining down thousands of sharp tipped pieces of crystal. Stunned Sarah and her father watched as the shards slashed and ripped at the amber skin of the creatures and raced on to cut the skin on her stepmother's face. Angela Colette's demon was launching its self into the air, diving towards Karen's demon. Then the two creatures collided, Ms. Colette's clawing and biting at the others throat.

Above the din of shrieks and shouts, Sarah heard Jareth bark, "Get behind me!" Another crystal rolled to his finger tips.

Sarah came to herself. She needed to get to safety and that place was under his cape with the shadows. She shoved down hard on the back of her father and pushed him towards Jareth. Once behind him, his cape became searching fingers, seeking out her and father to cover them. And then, halfway cocooned, it paused. The chaotic sounds ceased. No one was shouting. Sarah's ears were filled with the heavy breathing of her self, her father and Jareth. The whole room seemed to breathing in shallow, quick breaths.

Less than two minutes from Karen shrieking to this eerie silence. Peeking out from around Jareth's shoulder Sarah saw that all the men and women in the assembly were on their feet and their demons were like arched cats, digging their claws into their shoulders. Where Ms. Colette's demon had collided with Karen's was a slimy mess in glistening red. Sarah felt her stomach lurch as she saw Ms. Colette's hiss and scramble away to her mistress' arm, leaving behind macabre foot prints. Hovering above everyone's heads, spinning and crackling, was the last crystal Jareth had summoned. Her eyes than searched out Karen: she found her sprawled on the edge of the dais, thousands of crystal shards impaling her fair skin. Dead.

Ms. Colette took a step and then hesitated. Her eyes went from the decimated demon on the floor, to Karen, and then to the assembly. At her side her fingers twitched and her demon let out a roar.

"Don't move," came the order from Jareth.

Ms. Colette sneered. "She's dead," she spat. "And so is her demon!"

Shadows slithered from the corners and crawled from under chairs. "Adequately reprimanded," replied Jareth darkly. His head glanced from the left to the right taking in the assembly.

From behind him, her arms wrapped around her father and shadows moving liquid smooth about her, Sarah felt her anger burn in satisfaction. Dead? Karen was dead? She moved to see her father's face: he stared back at her, his eyes round and startled. She had been his wife. He had loved her. "Don't look. Dad, don't look," she whispered to him, putting a hand on his cheek and keeping his face down.

On the dais Ms. Colette stomped a pink pump and screamed, "You killed her!"

"In defense!" shouted Jareth. "I would be perfectly within my rights to bring the entire Goblin Horde down on you! All I have to do is snap my fingers." He raised his right hand, fingers poised.

She shook. "Leave!" The shadows converged over her, Robert, and Jareth and the coven's room vanished.

 _II_

Jareth set the tumbler down with a thump on the desk. For such a small glass it had felt incredibly heavy in his hand and a challenge for his arm to hold up. By Oberon, it had been an excruciatingly long day and there were still matters that needed tending. He worked the buttons lose on his waist coat and with a grunt leaned back in the chair.

As soon as they had arrived back in the Underground Robert William's had collapsed. Finally free of the witch's influence, no longer being held together by the sheer force of another's will, his body had given out. It had sent Sarah into a panic. She had thought him dead. Jareth sighed- really, he should have been. The witch had drained him. When Jareth had taken the man in his arms and brought him to the recessed pool, he had paused long enough to look at Sarah for permission. Robert had never ingested any fae food; had never known fae magic; placing him in the Underground water could alter him. Sarah nodded- anything to make her father better. Jareth had completely submerged him and then allowed him to float on the water's surface for an additional amount of time. "It will heal him," he had assured her. From there he had set up a room for him and for the past two hours Sarah had been by his side.

Jareth took another drink from the tumbler. He grimaced and then gave himself a shake, the alcohol and stress making him momentarily light headed. A dip in the water would do him some good as well. Upon arriving home though he had anticipated being summoned at once by his superiors, to give an account for his actions. There was much he had done as of recent that surely had garnered some attention: a messy contract, a mortal boy as well as a tainted mortal woman brought to his home, throw in their father, and then he had killed a witch; not to mention messing with the Great Imbalance. He took a deep breath and inhaled it in a rush. Perhaps Sarah had been wrong, perhaps he was more stupid than impetuous. There's a confession she would relish to hear, he mused.

His eyes settled across the room where his bed was, still rumpled from the previous evening. Downing the rest of the tumbler he left the room and reappeared in the library. He needed something to calm his thoughts and his library had always served him well to escape the toils of ruling and dull-witted goblins. Tonight it would need to distract him from all the uncertain possibilities of his future. He settled into a chair in front of the fire place. Before he knew it, he began to doze and to dream.

The hill he was descending was soft and the earth beneath was almost refreshing against his bare feet. At the base a massive orchard sprawled, its trees thick and drooping with fruits. Their scent was near intoxicating, sweet and tangy on a soft breeze. He walked among them seeing that each tree was of a different variety: apples, pears, lemons, and plums. All orchard fruit. Bending near a branch bowing under its weight, he found ripe peaches the very color of the evening sun. Perfection. Jareth had always loved peaches. The temptation to pluck one and taste its flesh was too much, and he reached out to pick one. When suddenly a a thick switch was rapped against the back of his hand. It stung horribly and he spun around to see who would dare strike the king. It was Sarah! More surprising than her presence was her appearance: she was in the ball gown he had made her all those years ago, except now the white was stained and where it had once flounced it now sagged. Over the front she wore an apron equally as dirty. She brandished the switch and scolded him. "Those are not for you," she said.

He scowled and then saw her smile. Despite her messy state she seemed genuinely happy. Jareth cast his gaze around and pointed to another tree. "May I have some from that one?"

She shook her head. "No."

He pointed in a random direction and was given the same answer. Then she laughed and began to move deeper into the orchard. "Is there anything here that I might have? That might belong to me?" he asked following her.

She turned and walking backwards said, "The whole orchard belongs to you. But the fruit is mine to do with as I see fit. Come! We must get this done!"

"What?"

The orchard tilted and where they had once been walking among the trees, they now stood still in an open field. From the pocket of her apron Sarah brought out a handful of seven peach pits. "Pits from the fruit, fruit from the tree, and the tree from the pit," she told him. "And all of it pushing and struggling against the earth. Never too easy." Together they knelt on the soft ground and dug out handfuls of soil, dropping the seeds deep into the earth.

Jareth felt himself shake and started awake in his chair before the fire. Focusing he saw Sarah bending near. "Everything alright?" he asked rubbing his face.

"Everything's okay," she assured him with a pat on the arm.

"And your father?"

"Still resting. Though his color looks a lot better now. I think he'll be fine."

Fine. As fine as anyone could be expected to be after such life altering events. He looked up her, leaning against the back his chair, pleased to see the outline of the pendant tucked under her shirt.

"Are we safe?" she asked suddenly, her eyes studying the fire. "I mean, we killed Karen Williams, a powerful witch- will the coven retaliate?"

"Not if they have any good sense," he replied, closing his book. "I did not break a single rule nor acted without provocation. If Angela Colette is a worthy head mistress then she will tighten her hold on her coven and be as inconspicuous as possible for a long time. For centuries preferably," he added dryly.

"I hope so," she said.

Tossing the book aside he told her to come near to him and he gathered her in his lap. For every day of eternity he would make good on the promises he had made her: that he loved her, that he wanted her happy and that he would do anything in his power to keep her and her family safe.

 _Author's Notes: there's a little bit more, but it must be its own chapter. Thank you all for loving this story. We so near 200 reviews- thank you!_


	24. Chapter 24

Author's Notes: First and foremost, as always, thank you guys for the love and support. It's been a while since the last update, but this is one is rather lengthy and we're starting to tie up some lose ends, gathering strings, stacking papers, and sorting out the bills from the junk mail. It should be noted that I had to go back and slightly tweak chapter two- a simple insertion regarding mice. That's rather the trouble some times with online posting: you can have the main story line completely sussed out, but the finer details have to be rearranged or added depending. Like the mice. Tick Tock: An Indepth Study of the Paradoxical Relationship Between Mice and Clocks, once I had that book title inserted into the library at the castle I knew I had to make further use of it. I blame Douglas Adams for all of it... well, at least the non-labyrinth bits. Cheers.

 _I_

Her father spent his time recuperating in sleep near the room that had been set up for Toby. For the first night her and her brother slept curled up on chairs within the same room as their father. Sarah knew Toby was upset, worried even, but for now he just wanted to be near and be comforted. She desired the same thing. Part of her couldn't shake the lingering fear though that they were not fully safe. In her mind she heard the chant _too easy, too easy_ , which she had now matched with the spriggan from one of her dreams about the orchard. The universe would never let things be too easy.

For the better part of two weeks she spent time in her father's room, feeding him broth, helping him regain his strength. The first few bowls that were brought in by goblin servants, Sarah was assured that they only contained human food. Her father would raise his brow, but not press her for more information. By the fifth day his curiosity began to kick in and he began asking questions: who had attacked first? Was Karen dead? Was anyone else hurt? Over the course of several days Sarah did her best to explain what had happened: Karen in some sort of fit had tried to attack them; the best that could be figured was retaliation for her whole scheme falling apart. Angela Colette had attempted to prevent any further damage by killing the demon Karen had used for power. Jareth, naturally, had gone on the defense and ultimately killed Karen herself. "It appears nothing was going to stop her from getting her old life back. She held us responsible for her losing everything," said Sarah.

"But a demon?" he asked, his face showing disbelief.

"It's how witchcraft works," answered Sarah. "Witches have to ask for other beings' power in order to achieve their spells. It's different with the fae," she added, sensing the next question.

Her father looked skeptical. "Goblins are not demons?"

She shook her head. That information seemed to ease his countenance a bit. As a tray of chicken noodle soup was brought in and settled across his lap, he asked, "Why is it so important to know what sort of food I'm eating?"

Sarah fidgeted in her seat. There was so much she was yet still learning, but in comparison to what little her father knew, she was an expert. Be honest, yet gentle, she told herself, there have been too many lies. "Fairy food could change you," she finally answered. "And I'm not sure that would be a good thing."

Her father stirred the broth. "What is Toby eating?"

"The same as you."

His eyes met hers. "And you- what are you eating?" he asked after a small pause.

She met his eyes. "I eat what the king eats," she answered.

Robert set his spoon down. His scruffy face was turning into a full beard, flecked with grey- he scratched at his cheek. "I'm not very hungry all of the sudden," he announced.

Sarah sighed. "Dad-,"

"Don't," he said sharply. "After everything he still intends to keep you."

"After everything, the contract still exists," she pointed out. "I am bond to it, just as much as he is."

"I thought he had changed," said Robert, playing with his spoon. "That night he came to me and asked me to wish you and your brother away, he said…" He paused, his eyes searching her face. "He said he loved you."

She fingered the clothes she was wearing: tshirts and jeans. Clothing that had been gifted to her, without argument by the king because it was what she had wanted. For a moment she then considered her father, lying in a soft bed, clean and healed. "He says he does," she finally replied. "Look Dad, it's far more complicated than I know how to explain- there are laws, customs, ancient practices that-," She was cut off.

There was a knock at the door. Half thankful for being saved from an awkward conversation, half disappointed she was having a hard time opening up to her father, Sarah called out for whoever it was to come in. It was Jareth. He paused in the doorway, his eyes assessing both of them. "Afternoon," he said and closed the door. "I thought I would come to see how you are faring Robert. And, to thank you."

Robert scoffed. "Thank me?" he repeated. "For what?"

From where she sat at the end of the bed Sarah looked questioningly up at him. "For trusting me with your children," Jareth explained with a small smile. "For believing me that night."

"Yeah, well, I owe you some gratitude as well: I am doing much better." It was said begrudgingly. Robert tapped his spoon against the tray. "So now what? I leave my daughter here with you and return home?"

"Dad!" hissed Sarah.

"I have a right to know," he snapped.

"When you're feeling stronger, we can discuss this-,"

Robert plowed on staring at the king, "No, now! You've got your payment. I hope at least I can have some assurances that you plan on marrying her! Yeah, I figured out where she goes to sleep every night!"

Sarah glared at her father, her lips open and cheeks warming. This conversation should have happened in a more controlled, delicate way. Jareth folded his arms. She waited for some snarky remark about rules and how what's said is said and all other such comments. Instead he said, "Well, I was rather hoping all of you would stay. It would be far easier to keep an eye on everyone and fulfill my pledge regarding your safety if you remained here in my realm." His smile broadened in the stunned silence. He continued, "If you don't fancy staying here in the castle, I can make other arrangements; perhaps a nice cottage near by?

"Where Sarah is concerned, she is very anti contracts at the moment, so I have been putting off the traditional human way of doing things until she is more agreeable. Now, I hear young master Toby barreling down the hall," he said and stepped aside to open the door once more. He paused long enough to snap his fingers at Robert's food, warming the contents of the bowl, and slipped a hand under Sarah's arm. "I must needs borrow your daughter now. Think it over. It is a very generous offer."

In came Toby exclaiming something about a new game the goblins had taught him, and Sarah found herself standing in the hallway dumbfounded, staring blankly at Jareth. Had he really just offered a place to live for her father and brother? A safe place? She wouldn't have to worry about them or be afraid that the coven would retaliate.

They were halfway down the hall before she found her voice. "You just…my family…Thank you," she said breathless and then hugged him so fiercely he staggered backwards with the force. "I know my dad, he'll want a place of his own," she continued looking up at him. "Toby won't want to be too far off though because he has grown quite attached to the goblins. And I'll have to help set up house, and of course we'll need to know how to shop and what sort of currency gets used around here. Oh, but thank you!" She paused for breath and then hugged him again.

Jareth looked pleased with her reaction. He assured her that he would begin preparations for the move at once. As soon as Robert felt up to it, it would be ready.

 _II_

Sarah became engrossed in helping her father transition to the new life. The two story house that Jareth gifted them was more than enough room: it was dubbed their cottage and at once blessed with Toby's dirty shoe prints across the back porch. It came furnished with all of their belongings that had been inside the apartment. On the little kitchen table Jareth left a box- "It will see to any financial transaction you may encounter," he explained. "Though whatever you desire my servants are quite capable of assisting. All you need do is ask."

It wasn't even discussed where Sarah would stay. Her father needed her. She spent the first night oddly cold and empty feeling in her old twin bed. Her possessions seemed so sparse. Toby was no longer crammed against the far wall. There was actually a fair amount of room now for her to decorate or spread out. She pulled her comforter up from the foot of the bed and tried to snuggle down, to create more warmth. It was just a lot to get used to, she reasoned with herself and things would settle into a nice routine, then she could figure out her place in the kingdom and in her home. Her eyes came to rest on the cycle pendant on her bedside table. The universe just needed to give them all a chance to catch their breath.

Her dad seemed to recover well though he never actually spoke about had transpired. The first few days Sarah insisted he take it easy, she helped rearranged furniture to his liking, cooked, and tidied. That first dinner in the new place had been one of the most arduous meals. The two adults at the table had stared at their food for a long while, knowing that they were all about to partake in a meal that would permanently alter all of them. Toby had fidgeted in the tense silence, not fully comprehending, but responding to his sister and father. Then Robert had taken a bite and slowly they finished their meal.

One day she found him standing in the living and dining room area: their small couch and round dinner table glaring out of proportion to the spacious quarters. He went to the box that had been left for their needs and peeked inside. With a grunt and a shake of his head he closed the lid again. She thought about teasing him, asking if it wasn't properly working and that there wasn't any money, but he looked too somber. Instead he asked her if she knew of a carpenter in town or was there some other way one could go shopping?

"I suppose one could just call the goblins," she said. She explained the way you could voice a need or a want and one of the king's subjects would appear.

He grimaced at the mention of the goblins. "I know Toby is quite fond of them and you seem comfortable with them, but they unnerve me," he confessed. Then he added in a sort of grumble, "I want to do this without magic."

Sarah watched him putter about and eventually wander away. This led to her asking the goblins for his majesty to call her, which in turn led to Jareth paying his first official visit to their new home. They sat together in the kitchen with cups of coffee, the table adorned with a fresh bouquet of flowers courtesy of Jareth. "He wants new furniture," she told him.

"That's easy enough," he replied. "I'll leave you with a crystal or two, and when he's ready-,"

Sarah cleared her throat interrupting him. "He doesn't want magic involved," she said.

"Ahha."

"I think he wants to do this himself," she said studying her coffee as it swirled in her mug. "to make something new and make it right, so that he feels a bit more in control of his life. Toby has always been fascinated with the realm of fae; me, I've been here before, but this is all so very strange to my dad."

Jareth leaned on an elbow. "Do you think it was a mistake for him to stay here?" he asked.

"No," she shook her head. "He knows this is the best place for him, for all of us to be. Well, how can we help him?"

"If he is willing to tolerate a touch of magic, there are some shops in the Above that I can recommend and have him escorted to." After a comfortable lull he asked, "Is there anything you need?"

What did she need? She knew on a practical level what she could make use of: information about life in the Underground. But part of her wanted something more. Sitting there at the small table reminded her of all of the meals and cups of coffee the two of them had shared. Involuntarily she felt her lips twitch. She caught herself though. In the past acting such impulsive decisions had led to potential danger not to mention a kidnapping. She needed to better understand where she was and what was expected of her; she needed to be ready for when the time came to return to the castle. "Some Underground history books. I'd like to understand how things work here better." He suggested that she come and choose as many books as she liked from the library in the castle.

This led to several trips in which she actually read some of the books she had come across that first time in the library, including Tick Tock: An Indepth Study of the Paradoxical Relationship Between Mice and Clocks. Mice had far more to do with the flow of time than she had ever before guessed. If a particular mouse in question did not run up the side of the clock at its appointed hour, there could be time slippage between the worlds. Sarah worried her tongue between her teeth as she read this information. Had time possibly gone wonky back home? Did Tori even remember her? That would be just like the universe to suddenly tip them sideways.

She had just returned with several new selections to read when she found Alistair on their front door step in human form. It was fascinating the way he could be either canine in appearance or human. Still the same man though, she mused opening the door to the carriage that had brought her back from the castle. "What brings you here?" she asked with a smile as he stepped up and offered her his hand to help her descend.

"I was escorting your father on his latest shopping trip," he answered.

"He seems determined to completely refurnish the place," she said. Robert had already been out once before and he came back with a couch and an arm chair and a small television. The latter purchase had been incorporated into his usual nightly routine of watching old westerns.

"And then some," remarked Alistair. "He deviated from his usual purchases today. Yes, he had me stop by a plant nursery. Something about how he was going to start and complete a task without magic even it was the end of him."

As far as Sarah knew her father had never shown any interest in gardening. If anything the thought of dirt on his hands, dirt on his clothes and subsequently dirt drug through the house, all made it seem like the most unlikely hobby he would undertake. Regardless though, around the back of the house she found several saplings, a few potted plants, and an array of shovels and bags of soil, and in the midst of it all her father looking very satisfied. She watched him shoo away several goblins that had been sniffing the smaller plants. Then without hesitation he grabbed a shovel, picked a spot a ways off and begin to dig.

For the rest of the day he was out there toiling away in the dirt. The size of the hole suggested he was planting one of the saplings first. Sarah watched intermittently from the backdoor, concerned that he might be overexerting himself. The simple fact was her father was well into his fifties and no amount of fairy food was going to change that. His breathing had become labored and his movements had turned sluggish as evening approached. When he had called it a night and gone off to shower and to bed, she hoped that he would take it easier the following day. Instead she found him back at it again shortly after breakfast. Any goblin that came within a several yards was told to get "their filthy paws away" from his plants.

Jareth made a visit later that afternoon. "He's going to hurt himself," Sarah commented as the two of them observed her father digging.

Jareth humphed. "He's hardly an invalid," he pointed out.

"But it has only been a few short weeks since everything happened," she replied. "And a man of his age should be careful. What's so amusing?" she then asked as Jareth's expression had crinkled into a grin.

"Well it's just that according to your human ways I am far older than your father, and you've certainly never cautioned me about exerting myself. In fact I seem to recall several times that you insisted on it."

Sarah rolled her eyes and swatted at his shoulder. They hadn't done much flirting since she had moved in to help with her family. It felt good. He made references before to human ways, implying that there was more than culture and the use of magic that made them different. She felt the weight of the pendant under her shirt, wondering what else was different.

Jareth's expression changed from teasing to something curious, and without warning he walked out the back door. Sarah's protests fell from her mouth silent as he approached her father, who stopped digging as Jareth retrieved an extra shovel and joined him. The two men seemed to size the other up, and with some nonverbal cue only the two of them understood, they began digging together.

As she turned to go to the kitchen to make lunch Sarah couldn't shake the feeling that something important had just transpired. Jareth had been nothing but gracious, true, but what did he know about gardening? No more than her father. Of course what really had the hairs on her arms standing on end was how many times she had dreamed about trees, fruit, and orchards. In those dreams she had learned about the Great Imbalance and how the waste or death of one thing more than often led to new birth and growth. She had always assumed that it had been a weird way in which the universe had seen fit to communicate, but never had she thought it some sort of prophecy. A sudden terror gripped her that her father would suddenly drop dead from all the heavy labor and she was once more at the backdoor: both men were fine.

Things progressed in a similar fashion for the next several days. Jareth would come over before lunch and the two men would spend several hours arranging plants and digging holes. There was very little conversation. Robert would give a few short instructions, generally with a point of the finger than words and the two would work.

After it was noted how much a recently planted shrub had already matured her father had thrown down his shovel and stalked off. Apparently his desire to have absolutely no magic involved was going to be hard to achieve. "Magic is here," said Jareth. He leaned on a shovel. "There's simply no stopping its influence." They both eyed her father. "The plants are going to mature and grow at a rather unusual rate."

More things that were yet different between them. Sarah sighed. "At least he was able to plant them without its aid. By the way, how are you spending so much time here? Don't you have a kingdom to rule?" she asked with a smile.

"My subjects are a bunch of mischievous, miscreants- it's nice to be able to plead ignorance every once in a while. Besides there's nothing particularly pressing at the moment. Save a thing or two," he added. "Nothing for you to worry about."

Sarah hummed. "Are you sure? What I mean is, I'm here if you want to talk anything through. You listened to me a good deal before all this happened." She nodded at their surroundings, her words enveloping everything that had transpired between them. After a beat where both of them looked at the ground she said, "I'm still wearing the pendant after all."

"Yes you are," he observed. He led her under the shade of the cottage. Making sure that neither Robert nor Toby was within earshot he said, "It's the coven. Angela Colette made a formal complaint against me. Our superiors are investigating what happened. I didn't want to upset you," he explained. "You and your father have already been through so much. Granted most of which is entirely my fault. So you can see why I hesitated to be the bearer of more trouble."

Sarah looked at him with his rolled up sleeves, pants smeared with dirt, and his exposed skin moistened with sweat. His presence here had been yet another on his growing list of selfless acts, and all without so much as a complaint about her absence from the castle. She weighed her options: chastise him for not sharing this new information as soon as she would have liked, or compliment him on his sensitivity to her emotions? She threw both options out. "Are you showing some remorse?" she asked with a smirk. She folded her arms. "Are you actually attempting to own your part in our current debacle?"

His expression was somewhere between amused and chagrined. "I am duly sorry for the hand I played in all of this. Honestly Sarah, I am."

She made a show of considering his words. "Well, it has been said that a penitent man is nothing to waste," she said unfolding her arms. "I suggest you come and kiss me by way of demonstrating your remorse."

Jareth scowled comically. "It wouldn't be proper in front of your father," he said.

Sarah refused to even glance over her shoulder. "I defy propriety," she declared and then she kissed him. He smelled of earth and his lips were slightly salty. Her body warmed to his touch creating a simmering heat just below the surface. How she had missed this feeling of being consumed by the desire of another. More so it felt so natural to be kissing him. Like it always has, she thought. He feels like home. A gruff huff that could only have come from her father had them pulling away from another.

"I must thank you for your help Jareth," he said.

"You are going to have a beautiful garden Robert," said Jareth. His arm still remained around Sarah. "Perhaps as lovely as your daughter."

Sarah smiled, feeling both silly and pleased.

Shortly after Jareth excused himself and left them. Sarah watched him go wanting him to ask her to return with him to the castle. She wondered if her father was ready to let her go? Would he even want her to go? Oh but she wanted to go. She wanted to share his bed, to feel his body next to hers, and learn more and more of what it meant to rule the Goblin City as his consort. The realization of her feelings and what her desire to be with him meant, came over her like a warm blanket, secure and comforting. She loved him.

 _III_

Sarah readied herself to go to the library. She was ready for some new selections. It had been a quiet two days. Her father had taken a much needed break from all of the gardening and hard labor, as had Jareth; his presence had been sorely missed. She hoped that during this trip to the castle she would run into him. Waiting for her in the living room was Alistair. When she expressed her curiosity as to whether or not Hoggle had been persuaded to join them, Alistair informed her that there had been no such luck: Hoggle still avoided the king and had no intentions of going any where near the castle. She had been attempting with very little success to mend things with the friends she had made on her first visit to the Labyrinth and surrounding Underground. Hoggle greeted her warmly enough though when had behaved strangely when he saw the pendant. Ludo had been rather hard to track down: apparently he was off on a yearly migration to some far off mountains and would not be seen for several more months.

"I was rather hoping you would come with me to the Above today," Alistair said fiddling with his watch fob. "I haven't been to the bookshop in several weeks and there are some things that need tending to." Sarah agreed heartily.

It was odd being back on the human side. While for the most part everything seemed the same- glass door, brick front, and full bookshelves just beyond- Sarah noted how now there seemed to be an iridescent aura to it. Colors zipped and altered depending on whether one looked directly at the structure or peered out of the corner of one's eye. It was encased in magic. Alistair had insisted on arriving with his car and had dropped her off at the front. "I'm going around back to park," he told her. "Here are the keys- go on in. There's a good girl."

Sarah heard herself fall back into their old ways. "Yes, Mr. Proodle," she replied.

Inside she was pleased to find that the shop still smelled the same: old books and just a hint of cinnamon. She reached for the lamp and illuminated the desk and sitting area. Christina Rossetti's book of poetry was laid out, as well as several other texts. Familiar habits began kicking in and she had shelved Rossetti and was on her way to the back room before she realized that things were not quite as they should be. Her fingers lingered at the light switch: the work area had been cleared and an array of candles had been lit. Her first thought was what fool had seen fit to light a live flame in a bookshop; her second thought though was how pretty it all looked.

She moved into the room. In the center of the table was a red bound book that reminded her of her copy of ACH Smith's Labyrinth- the fairy tale that had supplied her with the right words; that had been so much closer to real life than she ever would have originally imagined. This red book though bore no title. Sarah glanced around, wondering if there was anyone else in the shop. She was alone. Curiosity got the better of her and she opened the book to find an elegant script inside. It read, "I'll paint you mornings of gold, I'll spin you valentine evenings, forever."

Inside her head Sarah heard a melody that she had buried deep. What had he called it? A fae song? Written by magic and guided by the universe? A brief dizzy spell took her and she steadied herself against the table. Knowing he had to be near, she looked around and found him in the corner behind her: Jareth. He came near and while bending down, he said, "I'm doing the very human thing and asking, will you marry me?"

She stared down at him. "Oh I was hoping you would do this very human thing! Yes. Absolutely!" Jareth was up and kissing her. Sarah felt a giddy laugh building up inside her as he worked the ring over her finger.

"My consort, my queen, my life," he told her. "Now both worlds know." He kissed her again.


End file.
